LOVERS 


MAURICE 
THOMPSON 


CAUF.  ,.os  AN 


With   Drivings  by 
G.  Aid  en  Pe  its  on 


New  York 
New  York  Book  Co. 


Copyright,  1901,   J.  B.  Lippincott  Company. 
Copyright,  igoi,    The  Bowen-Merrill  Company 


Upon  a  broad  highway,  straight  and 
smooth,  between  ample  farms,  where  the 
cheerful  activities  of  spring  sent  forth  a 
medley  of  noises  very  pleasant  to  hear,  a 
young  man  rode  his  bicycle  with  leisurely 
strokes.  The  small  case  of  alligator  leath- 
er on  the  handle-bar  looked  a  trifle  worn, 
as  if  it  had  felt  hard  usage,  the  rain,  sun, 
and  dust  of  a  long  journey.  From  New 
York  City  to  the  mid-region  of  Indiana  is 
not,  indeed,  a  short  wheel-spin ;  moreover, 
the  weather  had  been  showery  almost  the 
whole  of  the  way,  making  the  roads 
i 


heavy.  Now,  however,  a  perfect  morn- 
ing late  in  April  was  hanging  a  splendid 
sheen  of  beauty  on  sky  and  landscape. 

Frederick  Breyten,  the  rider,  despite  his 
many  days  of  steady  exercise,  looked 
fresh  and  cheerful.  He  was  a  man  of 
greater  weight  than  long-distance  trav- 
eling awheel  usually  attracts;  yet  his 
limbs  showed  boyish  suppleness,  while 
his  slightly  curved  back  rippled  with 
a  fine  play  of  muscles.  Steering  with 
one  hand,  -the  other  thrust  into  the 
pocket  of  his  short  coat,  he  gazed  right 
and  left  over  the  greening  fields.  There 
was  a  ruddy  underglow  in  his  cheeks,  his 
curly,  short  hair  shot  a  glint  of  gold  from 
under  the  rim  of  his  cap,  and  his  face  had 
a  Norwegian  suggestion  in  its  fairness, 
strengthened  somewhat  by  a  peculiar  yet 
not  uncomely  forward  thrust  of  his  rather 
heavy  chin,  which  bore  a  rimpled  yellow 


beard,  short,  fine,  and  not  very  thick,  run- 
ning thence  up  to  his  ears ;  and  his  mus- 
taches but  half  veiled  his  mouth. 

He  had  come  out  of  Indianapolis  by  the 
Hawford  Road  at  sunrise;  now  the  city 
lay  ten  miles  behind  him.  There  was 
every  temptation  to  fast  riding.  Straight 
away,  hard  as  packed  gravel  could  make 
it,  the  road  reached,  white,  smooth,  level, 
without  dust,  a  glimmering,  narrowing 
line  to  where  it  pitched  gently  down  from 
a  slight,  hazy  ridge-top  into  a  wooded  val- 
ley. But  Breyten,  albeit  not  averse  now 
and  again  to  a  wild  scorch,  lagged  while 
his  gray  eyes  fed  upon  what  the  landscape 
had  to  offer. 

The  morning  passed.  He  looked  at 
his  watch;  it  was  a  quarter  past  one. 
The  air  had  a  thrill  of  heat  in  it,  a 
premature  touch  of  summer.  By  the 
wayside,  on  the  slope  of  a  grassy  hill 
3 


near  a  noisy  little  brook,  a  spring  trickled 
forth  with  a  chill  suggestion  in  its  crystal 
current.  Here  he  dismounted  and  ate  his 
simple  luncheon,  drawn  from  a  corner  of 
the  alligator-skin  case,  where  it  had  been 
closely  associated  with  two  or  three  little 
dog-eared  books.  The  meal  ended,  he 
stretched  himself  on  the  blue-grass  under 
a  greening  willow.  Five  minutes  later  he 
was  sleeping,  with  an  arm  curved  above 
his  head. 

About  five  o'clock  Breyten  resumed  his 
Journey  towards  Hawford,  going  briskly, 
with  a  blue  violet  between  his  lips.-  The 
air,  drawing  from  the  southwest,  had  sud- 
denly touched  his  face  with  a  dampness 
meaning  rain  not  far  off;  and  he  saw  a 
bluish-black  cloud  spreading  upward  un- 
der the  westering  sun. 


rApril  showers  had  so  often  sprinkled 
Breyten's  back  lately  that  the  prospect  of 
another  chill  dash  did  not  give  him  uneasi- 
ness, nor  was  there  anything  especially 
threatening  in  the  keen  spears  of  flame 
shot  down  now  and  again  from  the  cloud 
with  rattling  thunder. 

When  the  cloud,  now  tumbling  along 
with  a  motion  like  the  undertow  of  a  dan- 
gerous surf,  had  risen  about  half  way  to 
the  zenith,  Breyten  saw  a  girl  on  a  bicycle 
whirl  with  a  short  swift  curve  out  of  a 
road  tributary  to  his,  a  hundred  yards 


ahead.  She  flew  straight  away  from  him, 
a  beaming  embodiment  of  haste,  some- 
thing birdlike  in  her  motions  and  in  the 
flashes  of  color  from  her  clothes  suggest- 
ing the  wing-movements  of  a  frightened 
oriole. 

Breyten  involuntarily  quickened  his 
pace  as  she  began  to  draw  away  from  him. 
He  found  that  she  was  going,  indeed,  at  a 
racing  gait,  and  against  a  rising  wind, 
while  her  fluttering  skirts,  somehow 
showing  her  well-turned  ankles  and  little 
feet,  gave  forth  a  twinkle  of  yellow  and 
brown.  The  cap  she  wore  had  a  black- 
and-orange  feather-tuft  lying  flat  at  the 
left  side  with  demure  effect;  not  that 
Breyten  could  make  out  just  its  form  and 
color,  but  a  sense  of  these  came  along 
with  the  memory  of  how  softly  turned, 
and  how  like  a  berry  in  its  rich  under- 
glow,  her  cheek  had  looked  when  she 
6 


rounded  into  the  road.  He  smiled  so 
much  that  he  let  fall  the  blue  violet  from 
his  lips. 

Jerky  whiffs  of  wind  smote  harder  and 
faster  in  the  rider's  glowing  face;  the 
girl's  skirts  flickered  through  puffs  of 
road-dust,  and  by  some  indirect  ray  of  ex- 
pression from  that  exquisitely  poised 
form  slipping  away  before  him,  Breyten 
knew  that  the  girl  was  frightened;  he 
could  almost  see  her  shrink  when  the 
thunder  drummed  on  the  hollow  floor  of 
heaven. 

He  now  bent  low  over  his  handle-bar, 
arching  his  back  high,  stretching  forth  his 
Antinous  neck,  and  driving  the  pedals  so 
rapidly  that  the  tires  purred,  spinning 
the  pebbles  to  right  and  left.  At  this  mo- 
ment the  puffs  all  combined  into  a  head- 
wind, a  gale  almost  like  a  hurricane  driv- 
ing the  level  stream  of  dust  into  Breyten's 
7 


eyes,  and  then  the  front  wheel  hit  a 
boulder  as  large  as  his  head.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  sailed  a  long  way  before  he 
struck  the  ground ;  he  had  many  thoughts 
while  spread  out  bat-like  in  the  gloomy, 
raging  air,  and  his  flight  ended  in  a 
shock  amid  a  great  spangle  of  starry 
coruscations.  His  bicycle  climbed  along 
his  back  to  his  shoulders,  where  it  settled 
stiffly  upon  him,  as  if  conscious  of  hav- 
ing the  right  to  caress  him. 

The  surprise  was  about  all  there  was  in 
the  mishap  to  disturb  Breyten's  faun-like 
equanimity;  but  he  groveled  ludicrously 
in  the  dust  for  awhile,  uttering  certain 
virile  exclamations. 

After  ten  minutes  of  toilsome  headway 
Breyten  found  himself  in  a  little  valley 
through  which  a  stream,  half  brook,  half 
river,  ran  crookedly,  but  in  a  general  di- 
rection at  right  angles  with  his  road.  A 
8 


wooden  bridge  spanned  the  water.  Here 
he  paused,  breathing  as  much  dust  as  air. 
A  roaring  came  out  of  the  southwest,  as  if 
some  great,  hoarse  throat  were  gasping 
strenuously. 

Breyten  shrugged  his  shoulders;  then, 
lifting  his  bicycle,  he  made  a  dash  down 
the  stream's  bank  and  went  under  the 
bridge,  where  he  groped  around  for  the 
most  eligible  place  in  which  he  might 
shelter  himself  from  the  shower  of  tree- 
boughs,  falling  noisily.  It  was  almost 
pitch  dark  in  the  hollow  of  the  crib-work 
wooden  abutment,  a  stuffy  nook,  just 
above  the  water  level,  with  great  oaken 
sills  half  sunk  in  the  mud,  while  overhead 
the  floor  of  the  bridge  served  as  roof. 

Hastily  disposing  of  his  bicycle,  Brey- 
ten felt  with  his  hands  for  a  spot  to  sit 
upon.  While  he  fumbled  thus  there  came 
a  blinding  white  flash  down  from  heaven 
9 


to  earth  with  a  crash,  as  if  all  things  had 
been  ground  instantly  together  into  splin- 
ters. 

"Oh-o-o!"  wailed  a  tremulous,  sweet 
voice;  and  at  the  same  time  Brey ten's 
hands  clutched  something  soft  and  warm. 
"Let  go!  Oh-o-o!  Oh-o-o !"  continued  the 
voice. 

By  the  fierce  light,  which  seemed  to 
linger  with  a  wavering,  filmy  intensity, 
like  the  sun  itself,  Breyten  saw  a  girl,  and 
recognized  her  as  the  one  who  had  fled 
before  him.  She  \vas  sitting,  half  kneel- 
ing, upon  the  ground,  her  face  like  a 
saint's  at  prayer.  Her  bicycle  lay  beside 
her;  so  much  he  saw  in  a  twinkling,  and 
the  vision  registered  itself  within  him,  a 
luminous  and  fadeless  picture. 

He  had  withdrawn  his  hand  from  her 
soft  shoulder ;  but  when  the  darkness  fol- 
lowed the  flash,  doubly  black  by  contrast, 
10 


and  he  heard  her  wail  piteously,  he  felt 
around,  trying  to  touch  her  again. 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  he  said  very 
gently ;  "it  is  safe  here.  And  don't  you  be 
afraid  of  me.  I — " 

He  was  interrupted  by  another  flash  of 
indescribable  splendor  and  a  detonation 
that  made  the  ground  oscillate.  Some- 
thing forced  him  to  his  knees,  but  he 
sprang  up  instantly;  for  a  moment  he 
thought  the  bolt  had  hit  him  on  the  head, 
while  around  him  in  a  quivering  clasp  he 
felt  the  girl's  arms.  It  was  a  frantic  em- 
brace, made  strenuous  by  terror.  Certain 
cries,  quite  unrestrained  yet  neither  loud 
nor  harsh,  and  altogether  feminine,  told 
how  poignant  was  the  agony  engendering 
them. 

Breyten  stood  still,  smiling  in  the  dark, 
half  conscious  of  a  fear  that  even  his 
breathing  might  break  the  charm  woven 
ii 


around  him.  A  fine  thrill  sprang  through 
his  limbs  and  body  from  those  quivering 
arms.  It  was  but  a  minute — how  long 
and  delicious ! — then  she  let  go  and  sprang 
away,  rising  lightly  to  her  feet. 

"I — I  beg  pardon!"  she  stammered, 
with  the  intonation  of  a  hermit  thrush. 
"Forgive  me." 

Breyten  laughed. 

"What  for?"  he  demanded.  "You  have 
done  no  crime  that  I  know  of.  You 
haven't  picked  my  pocket." 

Heavy  silence  ensued,  so  far  as  any 
sounds  between  them  might  be  reckoned 
against  it,  and,  in  fact,  the  wind  was 
slacking,  the  thunder  receding.  Not  a 
drop  of  rain  had  fallen.  Incredibly  soon 
there  was  nothing  in  the  heaven  over- 
head but  trailing  shreds  of  dark  gray,  the 
tatters  of  that  cloud  which  half  an  hour 


12 


before  had  looked  so  heavy  and  so 
charged  with  danger. 

By  the  sudden  access  of  light  Breyten 
saw  the  girl  too  plainly  for  the  good  of  his 
eyes;  he  was  dazzled  by  the  beam  from 
her  fresh  and  glowing  countenance. 

"I  was  dreadfully  frightened,"  she 
said;  "I  always  am  when  it  lightens  and 
thunders  so.  It  is  foolish,  I  know; 
but—" 

"It  was  enough  to  scare  you,"  Breyten 
interrupted,  "or  any  person.  It's  all  over 
now.  It  has  blown  around  north  of  here. 
Let  me  take  your  wheel  up  to  the  road  for 
you." 

"No,  no,  thank  you;  don't,  please." 
But  he  seemed  not  to  hear  her,  and  went 
forth  carrying  her  bicycle  up  the  steep 
bank  to  the  bridge-top,  while  she  fol- 
lowed. It  was  done  so  easily  and  quickly 
that  the  tall,  comely  girl  scarcely  under- 
13 


stood  how  she  had  been  mastered ;  but  she 
struggled  with  her  wits  what  time  she 
was  mounting  the  slope. 

"Now  wait  till  I  fetch  my  wheel,"  he 
said. 

She  clutched  the  handle-bar  of  her  bi- 
cycle and  suddenly  looked  up  into  his 
face. 

"Oh,  if  you  please — won't  you  look  for 
a  little  red  note-book  down  there  ?  I  must 
have  left  it  on  the  ground  where  we — 
where  I — " 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Breyten;  "all  right, 
I'll  find  it" 

With  three  or  four  bounds  he  de- 
scended and  passed  under  the  bridge. 
Something  like  a  fairy  tune  was  humming 
in  his  ears ;  his  eyes  were  so  blurred  with 
a  rosy  vision  that  he  stumbled  over  his 
faithful  wheel.  He  looked  about  for  the 
little  red  book,  until  at  last  he  found  it, 
14 


and  beside  it  a  dainty  handkerchief  from 
which,  when  he  picked  it  up,  a  hint  of 
heliotrope  reached  his  nostrils. 

Breyten  reascended  the  bluff  in  such  a 
state  of  inward  transfigurement  that  when 
he  again  stood  on  the  bridge  and  looked 
around  he  felt  as  if  just  coming  out  of  a 
dream.  Had  he  really  seen  a  lovely 
young  woman,  brown-haired,  brown- 
eyed,  berry-lipped  ?  What  had  become  of 
her?  Up  the  road,  down  the  road  he 
turned  his  dazed,  inquiring  eyes ;  but  not 
even  a  ribbon-flutter  or  the  twinkle  of  a 
wheel  broke  the  dancing  play  of  sunlight 
now  slanting  over  from  the  rapidly  clear- 
ing west. 

He  looked  curiously  at  the  red  note- 
book and  the  white  handkerchief,  a  smile 
on  his  mouth  somehow  betraying  his 
sense  of  having  been  outgeneraled.  If 
a  stalwart  man  ever  looked  like  an 
3  15 


abashed  and  bewildered  boy,  it  was  he, 
standing  there  flushed  to  the  ear-tips,  stu- 
pidly toying  with  what  was  left  of  the 
sweetest  apparition  that  his  eyes  had  ever 
seen. 

It  was  a  month  in  his  imagination,  but 
only  a  minute  or  two  in  fact,  that  he 
stood  idle;  then  the  impulse  came  to 
mount  and  pursue.  She  was  going 
towards  Haw  ford  when  he  first  saw  her; 
of  course,  she  would  be  going  in  that 
direction  now. 


16 


CJvtvpler  J7Nree 

Breyten  entered  the  town  from  the  east 
in  a  broad,  clean  boulevard,  not  preten- 
tiously kept,  but  certainly  attractive,  on 
either  side  overlooked  by  pleasant  homes 
in  the  midst  of  trees,  under  which  a  blue- 
grass  sward  shone  intensely  green.  The 
way  turned  at  a  considerable  angle  to  join 
a  straight,  broad  street  of  the  town. 

Quite  unlike  most  little  cities  of  the 
middle  west,  Hawford  had  an  air  of  age 
and  permanence ;  not  so  much  in  the  ma- 
terials of  the  buildings,  mostly  wooden, 
as  in  the  general  effect  made  by  solid 
17 


architecture  and  ample  grounds  shaded  by 
ancient  forest  trees.  Breyten  saw  no  great 
stir  as  of  pressing  traffic ;  people  were  go- 
ing to  and  fro,  but  not  with  anxiety  or 
eagerness. 

After  inquiry  he  found  his  way  to  a 
pleasant  little  hotel  in  the  thick  of  the 
town,  where  his  luggage  was  awaiting 
him,  as  well  as  a  package  of  letters.  The 
first  thing  was  a  bath ;  his  correspondents 
could  hold  their  breath  until  he  got  kito 
comfortable  clothes ;  for  no  particular  in- 
terest attached  to  what  the  mails  brought 
him.  No  father,  mother,  brother,  or  sis- 
ter came  within  his  memory,  nor  had  he 
any  familiar  friends  or  nagging  enemies 
who  knew  where  he  was.  The  letters 
were  from  agents  managing  his  estates 
in  different  cities. 

What  most  occupied  his  mind,  vaguely 
perhaps,  but  in  its  every  nook,  was  the  girl 
18 


who  had  escaped  so  easily  at  the  bridge. 
She  had  fastened  herself  upon  his  imagin- 
ation like  a  butterfly  on  a  flower,  swing- 
ing across  his  inner  vision,  as  if  tossed  by 
a  fresh  wind. 

It  would  be  safe  to  say  that  Breyten 
had  been  touched  by  more  than  one  girl's 
beauty  before  this.  He  was  a  Southerner, 
with  all  the  warmth  of  the  cavaliers  in  his 
blood. 

It  was  a  part  of  his  deepest  nature  to 
desire,  as  the  Greek  poets  expressed  it, 
when  loveliness  came  before  him;  but  he 
had  escaped  sensuality  by  reason  of  high 
health  and  a  native  honesty.  As  a  roving 
student  he  had,  as  it  were,  gone  up  and 
down  in  the  world  with  a  book  in  his 
hand  and  love  in  his  heart. 

While  he  was  waiting  for  the  dinner 
he  had  ordered,  Breyten  walked  back  and 
forth  in  his  room.  A  bay-window  looked 
19 


into  the  street  in  front,  its  open  sash  let- 
ting enter  some  clatter  of  vehicles  along 
with  a  pleasant  country  freshness.  It 
was  growing  dark,  yet  against  the  sky 
pinkish  clouds  were  sliding,  thin  and  wav- 
ering, like  fading  flames  pursuing  the 
sun.  The  wind  had  gone  into  the  south- 
east. Breyten  took  note  of  these  weather- 
signs,  for  to-morrow  he  meant  to  go  out 
and  find  his  girl.  His  girl?  Of  course, 
his  girl.  It  is  the  way  that  youth  has  of 
appropriating  maidenhood ;  what  a  young 
man  discovers,  is  it  not  his  ?  Yea,  to  keep 
forever  or  to  toss  aside,  according  to  his 
mind. 

Later  in  the  evening,  while  rummaging 
for  something  in  the  pockets  of  his  cast- 
off  bicycle  coat,  he  found  the  book  and 
handkerchief  left  in  his  possession  by  the 
fair  strategist  at  the  bridge.  It  would 
have  been  good  to  see  him  treat  the  bit 
20 


of  hemstitched  linen  as  if  its  perfume 
were  a  charm,  as  if  it  were  a  white  flower- 
petal  from  an  enchanted  garden.  He  held 
it  near  his  nostrils  to  sniff  it  delicately. 
Then  he  opened  the  little  red  book. 

You  could  have  seen  guilty  conscience 
in  his  boyish  expression  of  furtiveness 
while  he  read  her  name  on  the  first 
page, — Rosalynde  Banderet, — certainly 
musical,  suggesting  French  ancestry.  Vin- 
cennes  was  not  far  away,  he  remem- 
bered; besides,  she  had  a  Creole  dash 
of  tender  duskiness  in  her  eyes.  A  warm 
glow  pursued  his  blood  around  the  circle 
of  his  veins  at  the  thought  of  her  voice. 

Breyten  felt  the  temptation  to  read  the 
entries  in  the  book  from  page  to  page ;  it 
was  like  seeing  ripe  berries  in  a  cool  place 
at  high  noon;  they  assaulted  a  primitive 
appetite.  But  he  could  not  trespass 
farther  than  to  catch  up  the  name  involun- 
21 


tarily, — Rosalynde  Banderet, — delicious- 
ly  sweet,  as  if  stolen. 

And  that  night  he  dreamed,  awake  and 
asleep,  the  preposterous  dreams  of  youth 
and  poetry,  with  the  book  and  handker- 
chief under  his  pillow. 

He  did  not  rise  early,  as  was  his  habit, 
but  slumbered  until  nine,  waking  then  to 
see  a  great  patch  of  sunshine  abetting  the 
glare  or  stare  of  the  gorgeous  carpet  on 
the  floor. 

From  beneath  the  pillow,  after  fum- 
bling a  moment,  he  drew  his  mementos 
of  yesterday,  looking  at  one,  then  the 
other,  with  rather  a  sheepish  gaze,  the 
smile  on  his  mouth  almost  degenerating 
to  a  grin.  Plainly  he  felt  a  trifle  ashamed 
of  himself  for  some  reason ;  but  the  feel- 
ing could  not  conquer  his  delight  when 
once  more  he  saw  the  name,  Rosalynde 
Banderet.  And  what  could  he  do  but 
22 


kiss  an  autograph  like  that?  If  idleness 
is  the  parent  of  vice,  it  is  also  the  sire 
of  many  harmless  virtues  begotten  ac- 
cidentally. 


As  Breyten  was  on  the  point  of  mount- 
ing from  the  concrete  curbing  in  front  of 
the  hotel,  he  was  accosted  by  a  short  but 
heavy-set  young  man,  who  had  followed 
him  out  from  the  office  to  say :  "Pardon 
me,  but  that  is  a  remarkably  attractive 
wheel  of  yours.  Whose  make  is  it  ?" 

The  voice  had  good-fellowship  in  its 
tone.  Breyten  felt,  before  he  looked  up, 
that  he  should  see  a  comely  face;  but  he 
was  not  prepared  for  what  met  his  eyes. 
The  man  was  handsome,  that  could  not 
be  questioned;  yet  the  magnetism  of  his 
24 


countenance,  which  was  instantaneous, 
really  seemed  not  due  to  any  happy  ar- 
rangement of  features.  It  was  a  ray  from 
within,  out  of  the  darkness,  one  might 
say,  for  his  face  was  of  a  dusky  olive, 
while  his  eyes,  hair,  brows,  and  mustache 
were  nut-brown,  with  a  dark-yellowish 
gloom  hovering  about  them. 

"Yes,  it's  a  good  wheel,"  said  Breyten 
promptly.  "I  had  it  made  just  to  my 
liking.  You  see,  it  has  the  good  points 
of  all  the  best  makes.  It  is  a  concession  in 
my  behalf  by  several  patentees." 

"You  have  come  to  enter  the  races  at 
our  spring  meet,  I  presume." 

Breyten  came  near  demanding  the 
man's  right  to  indulge  so  violent  a  pre- 
sumption. He  had  never  heard  pf  the 
Haw  ford  spring  meet,  and  certainly  he 
was  not  a  racing  man;  but  there  was 
something  in  the  face  before  him  which 
25 


forbade  rebuke  with  peremptory  direct- 
ness. Besides,  the  man  was  lame,  short  of 
one  leg  by  three  inches,  the  lack  filled  out 
with  an  enormous  boot-sole  of  cork. 

"No;  I  don't  race/'  said  Breyten;  "I'm 
only  a  tourist  looking  at  the  country." 

Thus,  by  mere  accident — or  is  there 
such  a  thing  as  accident? — came  Alfred 
Rayle  into  the  ken  of  Frederick  Breyten, 
and  both  men  knew  almost  immediately 
that  the  meeting  meant  something  in  the 
strange  scheme  of  existence. 

Breyten  mounted  and  passed  out  of 
town,  gradually  increasing  his  speed  as 
the  roadsides  flaunted  their  rural  verdure 
and  the  country  freshness  began  to  stimu- 
late him.  Not  once  did  it  come  into  his 
mind  that  there  might  be  failure  at  the 
end  of  his  ride;  nor  was  he  conscious  be- 
fore reaching  the  bridge  that  he  was  do- 
ing a  very  foolish  thing.  There,  however, 
26 


while  the  glow  of  expectation  was  high- 
est, he  suddenly  saw  things  change,  as  it 
were  from  poetry  to  prose.  The  whole 
landscape  took  on  a  commonplace  coun- 
tenance. He  dismounted  on  the  spot 
where  he  had  last  seen  Rosalynde  Ban- 
deret.  Plucking  at  his  mustache,  he 
gazed  around  with  a  decidedly  stupid 
stare,  not  enthusiastic  enough  to  smile  at 
his  own  folly  or  to  recall  himself  from  a 
state  of  indifference. 

Of  course  the  young  lady  was  nowhere 
in  sight ;  why  should  she  be  ?  Had  Brey- 
ten  really  expected  her?  After  all,  his 
coming  back  to  the  bridge  meant  nothing 
more  than  poetical  impulses  have  always 
meant. 

After  three  minutes  of  blank,  listless 
staring  around,  he  pulled  himself  to- 
gether and  laughed.  He  propped  his  bi- 
cycle against  the  rail  of  the  bridge  and 
27 


went  below,  curious  to  see  the  spot  upon 
which  Rosalynde  Banderet  had  crouched. 
It  was  not  a  romantic  place,  rather  dirty, 
cobwebbed  in  the  angles,  ill-smelling. 
With  his  hands  in  his  pockets  he  sur- 
veyed the  ground,  until  a  dainty  shoe- 
print  caught  his  eye. 

"Rosalynde  Banderet,"  he  thought 
aloud,  "I'll  find  you  yet" 

Then  he  laughed  at  himself  and 
pedaled  back  into  Hawford,  disappointed 
in  an  indefinite  way,  yet  not  defeated.  He 
had  plenty  of  time,  and  the  little  town  ap- 
peared attractive,  viewed  as  a  place  in 
which  to  spend  a  month  or  two ;  further- 
more, had  not  the  thought  of  studying 
the  life,  or  rather  experiencing  the  life,  of 
the  middle  west  often  interested  him? 
You  see  he  was  already  framing  a  foun- 
dation for  the  excuse  he  needed. 

Instead  of  returning  directly  to  the 
28 


hotel,  Breyten  made  a  swing  round  the 
residence  part  of  Hawford,  taking  a  leis- 
urely survey,  not  so  much  to  observe  as 
to  think,  and  most  of  all  to  let  his  imagin- 
ation settle. 

Breyten  may  have  been  in  just  the 
frame  of  spirit  to  be  most  favorably  im- 
pressed with  what  he  saw ;  but  any  tourist 
would  have  been  delighted  with  the  clean- 
ness, freshness,  and  repose  of  the  little 
city  embowered  in  its  manifold  greeneries 
and  blown  upon  by  the  weather  of  a  day 
supremely  golden,  balmy,  with  bees  in 
many  a  cherry  tree,  all  white  with 
flowers, — a  paradise  of  robins  in  every 
close. 

One  broad  street  lying  east  and  west, 
tree-fringed  on  either  side,  had  been 
chosen,  as  the  houses  showed,  by  some  of 
Hawford's  most  substantial  citizens.  It 
was,  indeed,  a  double  row  of  attractive 
29 


homes,  which  were  set  well  back  amid 
their  trees,  with  shrubbery  clumps  in  pro- 
fusion and  broad  white  walks  of  concrete 
leading  straight  from  street-gate  to  stoop. 

Near  the  end  of  the  street  Breyten 
found  himself  opposite  a  large  house 
which  attracted  his  attention  on  account 
of  its  unlikeness  to  all  the  others.  Not 
exactly  venerable  in  appearance,  it  looked 
older  than  it  really  was ;  a  stately  struct- 
ure, plain,  weatherbeaten,  solid,  built  of 
brick  and  painted  drab,  it  stood  on  a  knoll 
thickly  surrounded  with  wide-armed 
forest  trees. 

Just  as  he  was  passing  the  drab  gate  of 
the  old  place  two  persons,  a  man  and  a 
girl,  went  up  the  walk  towards  the  house. 
The  man  was  lame  and  proceeded  slowly, 
leaning  on  a  knotty  cane,  while  his  com- 
panion gently  kept  pace  with  him.  An 
absurdly  unattractive  little  dog  followed 
30 


at  the  girl's  heels,  bearing  itself  as  if 
conscious  of  a  gazing  world. 

Breyten  knew  instantly  that  Rosalynde 
Banderet  was  once  more  under  his  eye. 

He  recognized  the  lame  man  as  the  one 
who  spoke  to  him  at  the  hotel,  and  there 
was  something  in  the  movement  and  pro- 
portions of  the  poor  fellow's  figure  that 
suggested  a  satyr  or  some  other  half- 
beautiful,  half-monstrous  plaything  of 
nature.  Nor  could  there  be  any  doubt, 
after  a  single  glance,  as  to  the  influence 
Miss  Banderet  was,  perhaps  uncon- 
sciously, exerting  over  him.  He  was 
looking  at  her  as  a  child  looks  at  a  star. 
Breyten  knew  this  by  the  pose  of  his 
head  and  the  slight  drooping  of  his  body 
towards  her.  A  stroke,  subtly  keen,  fell 
upon  Breyten's  breast  at  the  same  time, 
sending  a  pang  through  his  heart — a  pang 
mixed  of  joy  and  its  opposite;  for  there 
3  3i 


was  a  formless,  nebulous  pathos  in  the 
scene. 

He  could  not  linger  gazing,  and  the 
thought  of  making  the  book  and  handker- 
chief an  excuse  for  entering  that  quiet 
close  did  not  come  into  his  mind ;  so  he 
rode  back  to  the  hotel.  After  all,  he  had 
accomplished  something,  more,  indeed, 
than  he  had  expected;  but  why  this  sor- 
rowful faint  shadow,  this  obscure  taint  in 
the  sunshine  of  his  dream?  A  thrush  in 
a  garden  hedge  sang  of  its  love  with  just 
the  same  hint  of  indefinable  sadness^ 


Rayle  was  attempting  the  impossible, 
trying  to  learn  art  without  a  teacher  and 
with  no  masterpieces  from  which  to  ab- 
sorb a  sense  of  technical  correctness.  If 
he  had  genius,  his  work  did  not  testify  to 
it.  Like  the  penniless  provincial  the  world 
over,  his  regard  for  wealth  being  a  distor- 
tion, ^hel looked  upon  success  as  in  some 
way  connected  with  a  happy  financial  con- 
dition. If  he  had  money,  the  rest  would 
be  easy.  But  he  had  no  money  worth 
naming,  six  hundred  dollars  annually 
from  property  left  in  trust  for  him  by  an 
33 


uncle  being  his  only  income  save  the  little 
he  earned  by  coloring  photographs  and 
doing  a  portrait  once  in  a  while. 

He  took  Breyten  to  his  studio  in  the 
upper  story  of  a  rickety  building,  part 
of  which  was  occupied  by  baled  hay  and 
other  horse-feed.  A  livery  stable  was 
next  door,  and  across  the  street  "Barney 
Hart's  Saloon"  was  squeezed  hard  be- 
tween a  bakery  and  a  meat-shop. 

Breyten  followed  Rayle  up  the  stair- 
way, which  was  outside  of  the  building  at 
the  edge  of  an  alley,  feeling  in  advance 
the  pathos  of  what  he  was  going  to  see. 
His  sense  of  humor,  however,  received  a 
shock  when  he  entered  the  room,  which 
smelt  stuffy  and  looked  grimy.  There 
were  two  rough  easels,  a  chair  and  a 
bench,  a  three-legged  stool,  some  pic- 
tures,— nothing  else.  On  one  of  the 
easels  a  large  canvas  held  a.  landscape  in 
34 


oil,  stiffly  drawn  and  crudely  colored, 
hideously  uninteresting,  yet  in  a  way  true 
to  nature,  not  unlike  a  photograph  daubed 
over  with  greens  and  browns  and  blues. 
Breyten  looked  around,  and  a  great  laugh 
arose  in  him  which  he  had  trouble  to 
keep  from  roaring  forth.  Then  involun- 
tarily he  turned  short  and  faced  Rayle, 
who  had  stepped  behind  him  as  they  en- 
tered. 

For  a  minute  there  was  an  awkward 
silence,  while  Rayle's  dark  eyes  seemed 
to  search  Breyten's  soul  to  its  farthest 
limit,  and  while  Breyten  made  a  great 
effort  to  keep  an  equilibrium  of  counte- 
nance. 

At  the  point  of  greatest  tension  in  the 
silence  an  enormous  rat  leaped  out  from 
a  dark  corner  of  the  room  and  scampered 
noisily  across  the  floor  to  a  hole  near 
another  corner.-  That  was  the  cue.  Brey- 
35 


ten  let  go  his  hold  upon  all  the  laughter 
that  had  accumulated.  Rayle  fairly  re- 
coiled before  the  explosion ;  but  he  caught 
himself,  and  laughed  rather  perfunctorily 
in  response.  He  gave  Breyten  the  chair, 
and  took  the  stool  for  himself. 

"I — I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  stammered, 
"for  bringing  you  here.  I  know  it's  not 
interesting  to  you." 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Breyten  briskly;  "it 
is  interesting;  I'm  glad  I  came.  It  is  a 
quiet,  comfortable  place.  We  can  have  a 
chat.  Forgive  my  laugh ;  the  rat  was  so 
big  and  so  sudden." 

Sitting  upon  the  tripod,  Rayle  looked 
peculiarly  crumpled  and  pathetic,  notwith- 
standing his  fine  head  and  well-set  shoul- 
ders. He  glanced  uneasily  at  his  land- 
scape, then  asked  Breyten  if  he  took  any 
interest  in  painting. 

"Not  much,"  was  the  answer.  "I  tried 
36 


it  awhile,  went  to  Paris  to  study,  daubed 
some  canvas,  and  was  a  great  failure. 
You  see  I'm  not  a  genius,  and  one  must 
have  the  gift.  Nature  first,  art  next." 

A  flush  mounted  into  Rayle's  cheeks. 
"Yes,  the  natural  gift  is  the  main  thing, 
they  say."  He  spoke  as  if  under  great 
restraint.  "It  seems  to  me,  however,  that 
money  plays  the  big  part  in  the  game. 
How  can  genius  find  out  what  it  has  never 
seen  or  felt  or  heard?" 

"I  don't  know  how,  but  it  does,"  said 
Breyten.  "It  needs  no  aid." 

"Well,  frankly,  I  don't  believe  a  word 
of  any  such  stuff,"  said  Rayle  with 
energy.  "Give  me  money,  and  I'll  do  the 
rest." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  the  efficacy  of 

money  in  the  matter  of  art,"  Breyten 

lightly  remarked;  "but  we  all  need  it, 

doubtless,  more  than  we  are  willing  to 

37 


acknowledge.  I  squandered  some  trying 
to  do  what  you  think  of  doing.  If  I  had 
that  money  back  now  I  could  use  it  to  bet- 
ter purpose ;  but  it's  gone,  and  I've  noth- 
ing to  show  for  it."  , 

His  words  were  meant  to  deceive,  and 
they  did  to  a  degree ;  but  Rayle  knew  that 
Breyten  was  freer,  happier,  and  richer 
than  himself,  and  so  what  he  said  did  not 
bring  comfort.  Besides,  his  leg  was  pain- 
ing him,  and  it  was  torture,  yet  a  torture 
that  he  eagerly  sought,  to  look  at  Brey- 
ten's  genial  face,  where  health,  strength, 
and  activity  were  combined  in  every  ray 
of  expression. 

"I  had  a  selfish  purpose  in  decoying 
you  up  here  into  this  hole,"  said  Rayle 
after  a  few  moments  of  silence,  with  a 
smile  not  altogether  dismal.  "I  want  you 
to  tell  me  if  I  have  any  real  talent  for — 
for  this  business."  He  waved  his  hand 
38 


to  signify  that  his  remark  comprehended 
what  the  room  was  dedicated  to.  "Some- 
how I  had  made  up  my  mind,  before  you 
spoke  of  having  studied  art  in  Paris,  that 
you  knew  more  than  I  about  it.  Now  I 
want  you  to  be  frank  with  me." 

Breyten  was  speechless.  Indeed,  what 
could  he  say? 

"I'll  tell  you  the  whole  thing,"  Rayle 
went  on  when  Breyten  did  not  speak. 
"It's  just  this:  I  have  a  small  estate, 
held  in  trust  for  me,  from  which  I  get  fifty 
dollars  a  month.  My  lawyer  has  just  dis- 
covered that  I  can  sell  the  property,  al- 
though it  was  the  donor's  intention  to 
prevent  it.  Now,  if  I  have  real  talent  I 
want  to  know  it,  and  I'll  sell  out  and  go 
away  to  study.  That's  the  long  and  short 
of  the  matter." 

He  fidgeted  on  the  stool  and  a  dark 
glow  rose  in  his  face.  This  way  of  blush- 
39 


ing  gave  him  a  look  of  shyness  not  par- 
ticularly becoming,  and  made  him  appear 
less  at  ease  than  he  really  was. 

Breyten  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a 
moment.  "You  are  just  as  I  was  when  I 
got  the  painter's  bee  in  my  bonnet,"  he 
said,  with  his  pleasantest  smile  and  in  a 
voice  meant  to  be  very  light  and  careless. 
"It's  like  love ;  it  has  a  way  of  humming 
until  it  distracts  a  fellow — that  bee."  He 
was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  added: 
"How  long  have  you  been  at  this  ?  How 
long  have  you  worked  at  your — art?" 

"It  isn't  art;  you  know  it  isn't,  and 
you  needn't  hesitate,"  said  Rayle  prompt- 
ly and  frankly  enough.  "I  know  as  well 
as  you  do  that  it's  ridiculous;  but  I 
wanted  you  to  see  it  just  as  it  is.  If  you 
should  go  to  speaking  favorably  of  it  I 
could  not  respect  your  taste;  but  can  I 
ever  learn  ?  If  I  go  to  where  I  can  get  the 
40 


best  help,  can  I  finally  be  an  artist  ?  That's 
what  I  want  to  know." 

There  was  absolute  earnestness  in  his 
voice,  and  Breyten  felt  something  manly 
and  courageous  come  along  with  his 
words. 

"You  don't  see  much  here  to  back  my 
aspirations,  do  you  ?  I  didn't  expect  you 
would."  Rayle  laughed  mechanically. 

"You  jump  to  a  conclusion,"  Breyten 
replied  quickly.  "I  have  not  yet  had 
time  to  examine  or  to  think."  While  he 
was  speaking,  his  eyes  fell  upon  Rayle's 
drawn  leg  and  clumsy  shoe,  and  a  thrill  of 
pity  shot  through  his  breast.  "But,"  he 
added,  "I  should  imagine  that  your  work 
here  would  be  in  your  way  when 
you—" 

"Yes,"  Rayle  interrupted  almost 
breathlessly.  "I  should  have  to  begin 
over  again,  I  know  that.  But  what  do 


you  think  of  the  outcome?  Am  I  mis- 
taken in  myself?  Is  there  nothing  m  me  ?" 

"Well,  how  do  I  know  ?  I  am  no  mind- 
reader."  They  both  laughed,  Rayle 
rather  doggedly.  Breyten  went  on: 
"You  might  have  superb  genius  and  I 
not  see  it  at  a  glance.  What  do  you  hon- 
estly think  of  yourself  when  you  lie  in 
bed  pondering  over  this  subject?" 

"My  self-trust  never  weakens  for  a 
moment,  save  when  I  read  of  those  men 
who  have  overcome  poverty,  disease,  and 
every  other  possible  hindrance  to  genius. 
I  doubt  myself  then ;  for  somehow  I  can 
not  break  through  anything ;  I  have  none 
of  the  shiftiness  of  those  fellows,  and 
there  has  never  come  to  me  one  of  those 
lifting  waves  of  opportunity  to  hoist  me 
into  the  current  of  success." 

"And  if  one  should  come — if  a  wind- 
fall of  fortune  should  give  you  ample 
42 


means — do  you  feel  sure  that  you  would 
be  able  to  make  the  most  of  it?" 

"I  could  at  least  settle  the  question  and 
find  out.  I  could  measure  myself  by  a 
true  standard,  and  I  tell  you  that  I  be- 
lieve in  myself;  yet" — and  his  voice  fal- 
tered as  he  looked  gloomily  around  the 
room — "you  can  see  that  I've  no 
reason  to." 

Breyten  rose  as  if  to  go ;  but  he  stood  a 
moment  looking  into  Rayle's  eyes  and 
smiling.  Then  in  a  tone  of  present  dis- 
missal he  said: 

"We'll  talk  this  subject  over  again 
when  you  have  discovered  that  my 
opinions  aren't  worth  a  straw.  A  vaga- 
bond wheelman  is  not  just  the  safest  ad- 
viser in  a  serious  matter.  One  thing, 
however,  I'll  say  emphatically.  Don't  sell 
your  estate;  let  the  trustee  continue  to 
hold  it.  A  six-hundred-dollar  income  is 
43 


better  than  no  income.  What  I  have  is 
safely  invested,  and  I  manage  to  make 
both  ends  meet  without  disturbing  the 
principal.  It's  the  only  safe  way." 

Rayle  had  risen  from  the  stool  and  was 
fingering  his  knotty  stick.  He  looked  up 
at  Breyten,  who  towered  above  him,  and 
said: 

"You  might  as  well  be  done  with  me  at 
once.  I  shall  be  a  great  bore  as  long  as 
you  are  at  the  hotel.  You  see  I'm  desper- 
ately in  earnest  and  absolutely  selfish. 
How  long  are  you  to  remain  in  Haw- 
ford?" 

Suddenly  Breyten  recollected  some- 
thing that  had  been  obscurely  worrying 
him  all  the  morning,  and  he  answered 
Rayle's  question  with  a  mental  reference 
to  it. 

"That  depends,"  he  said;  "my  humor 
is  uncertain.  And,  by  the  way,  I  have  a 
44 


pleasant  yet  difficult  little  duty  to  per- 
form before  I  go  away  from  this  happy 
little  town.  Do  you  know  a  young  lady 
by  the  name  of  Rosalynde  Banderet?" 

A  change  came  into  Rayle's  dark  face. 
It  was  as  if  a  light  had  flashed  through 
it,  with  a  tender  illumination  trailing  be- 
hind it,  like  the  faint  shimmering  after 
a  meteor  in  the  dusky  evening  sky. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  am  acquainted  with 
her." 

"Well,  I  have  some  things  of  hers  that 
I  am  anxious  to  return  to  her.  Does  she 
live  in  the  large  old  house  on  Wabash 
Street?" 

"What  have  you  that  belongs  to  her?" 
Rayle  demanded.  Then,  "I  beg  pardon," 
he  added,  "I  have  no  right  to  ask.  Yes, 
she  lives  on  Wabash  Street." 

The  two  young  men  looked  straight 
into  each  other's  eyes.  Breyten  broke 
45 


away  first;  he  did  not  like  something  in 
Rayle's  look.  Not  that  it  was  disagree- 
able or  threatening;  what  he  saw  was 
beautiful.  It  was  because  it  was  beautiful 
that  he  did  not  like  it.  He  walked  back 
to  the  hotel  thinking  in  words  to  himself : 
"The  poor  fellow  loves  her.'* 


Breyten  all  at  once  found  himself  timid, 
uneasy,  foolishly  hesitating  in  front  of  the 
house  on  Wabash  Street.  That  is,  he  was 
girl-shy,  and  actually  felt  like  running 
away. 

He  had  dismounted  from  his  bicycle  in 
front  of  the  gate,  had  even  leaned  it 
against  the  fence,  and  was  gazing  up  the 
walk  with  an  expression  of  countenance 
not  significant  of  any  settled  purpose.  In- 
deed, he  looked  like  a  big  boy  suddenly 
stricken  with  embarrassment.  He  stuffed 
his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his  bicycling 
4  47 


coat ;  with  one  of  them  he  fumbled  the  lit- 
tle red  book,  while  he  thought  of  the 
handkerchief  in  his  cap,  and  stood  by  the 
gate  as  if  half  afraid  to  open  it. 

A  distinct  sense  of  relief  caused  his  face 
to  resume  somewhat  its  accustomed  ex- 
pression when  he  saw  an  elderly  gentle- 
man come  round  an  angle  of  the  house 
and,  cane  in  hand,  approach  him,  stepping 
down  the  walk  with  the  stiff,  jerky  gait  of 
rheumatism.  He  wore  a  black  frock-coat, 
a  silk  hat,  and  dark-gray  trousers,  all  ex- 
tremely neat,  yet  unmistakably  far  from 
new.  The  dingy  black  neckerchief  under 
his  old-fashioned  collar  was  three  inches 
wide  and  tied  in  a  tight  little  knot.  His 
ample,  much-wrinkled,  and  brilliantly 
polished  shoes  looked  a  trifle  too  heavy 
for  his  long,  slender  legs,  which  were  pe- 
culiarly sharp  at  the  knees. 

Breyten  lifted  his  cap,  and  the  old  man 
48 


said :  "How  do  you  do,  sir  ?"  very  prompt- 
ly and  with  pleasant  dignity,  repeating, 
after  a  slight  pause,  "How  do  you  do?" 

Breyten  opened  the  gate  for  him,  and, 
stepping  aside,  held  it  so  while  he  passed 
out  upon  the  sidewalk. 

The  old  man  turned  a  pair  of  keen  steel- 
gray  eyes  upon  the  young  fellow,  as  if  to 
look  him  through,  then,  glancing  at  the 
bicycle  against  the  fence,  said :  "It  bids 
fair  to  be  a  warm  day."  After  which  he 
stood,  evidently  not  quite  sure  of  his 
memory,  passing  his  left  hand  over  his 
forehead.  He  could  not  recollect  Brey- 
ten, but  took  it  for  granted  that  he  was 
one  of  the  young  men  about  town  who 
might  some  day  vote  for  him  and  he  did 
not  like  to  appear  forgetful. 

"You  were  going  in.  Was  it  to  see 
me?"  He  smiled  a  fine  political  smile. 


49 


"I  will  go  back  to  the  house  with  you. 
Come/' 

"No,"  said  Breyten.  "I  am  going  in  to 
sec  Miss  Rosalynde — " 

"Ah,"  the  old  man  interrupted  with  a 
wave  of  the  hand,  "she'll  be  right  glad 
to  see  you,  Mr. — " 

"Breyten  is  my  name." 

"Mr.  Breyten.  Yes.  You'll  find  her 
in,  I  think.  Go  in,  Mr.  Breyten,  go  in." 
The  genial  stereotyped  smile  deepened  on 
his  face  as  he  bowed  and  passed  on  down 
the  street. 

Thereupon  Breyten  burned  the  bridge 
behind  him.  That  is  to  say,  he  went  in 
and  shut  the  gate,  breathing  freer.  His 
heart  fluttered  blithely  while  he  strode 
towards  the  house,  hearing  the  robins  and 
catbirds  singing  in  the  trees  round  about. 
Up  the  steepish  walk  under  the  intertwin- 
ing branches  a  queer  little  dog  trotted 
50 


ahead  of  him.  It  had  come  out  of  a 
shrubbery  clump  hard  by.  A  blue  ribbon 
around  its  neck  was  tied  above  in  a  bow 
•with  short  streamers. 

Mounting  six  or  seven  steps  to  a  broad 
stoop  under  a  hanging  balcony,  Breyten 
pounded  vigorously,  waking  echoes  with- 
in, at  which  the  grotesque  little  dog,  now 
wriggling  at  his  feet,  barked  as  if  life  de- 
pended upon  noise.  And  when  a  little 
later  the  door  was  gently  opened,  in 
scampered  the  clever  brute  and  joyously 
leaped  upon  Miss  Rosalynde  Banderet's 
dainty  morning  gown. 

Breyten  was  not  prepared  for  the  ap- 
parition of  Miss  Banderet  in  the  hall. 
He  had  expected  that  a  servant  would 
open  the  door.  The  dog,  however,  neu- 
tralized surprise  with  his  mad  antics.  He 
jumped  as  high  as  his  young  mistress's 
waistband,  and  tried  to  seize  certain  fluffy 


ornaments  above  it  with  his  teeth.  His 
paws  left  dusty  tracks  on  the  skirt. 
Mutual  recognition  flashed  meantime  be- 
tween the  two  young  people.  Breyten, 
stooping  quickly,  took  hold  of  the  dog's 
nape  and  held  it  up  bodily,  whining  and 
kicking  for  a  moment,  then  tossed  it  out 
upon  the  floor  of  the  stoop  and  closed  the 
door  with  a  brisk  shove. 

"Now  then,  good-morning,  Miss  Ban- 
deret,"  he  said,  turning  towards  her  in 
the  twilight  of  the  hall  and  bowing,  cap 
in  hand. 

She  looked  straight  past  him.  The  lit- 
tle dog  was  scratching  at  the  door  and 
querulously  begging  to  be  let  in. 

"You  have  hurt  Bobby,"  she  said;  "he 
is  crying.  Let  me  open  the  door." 

Breyten  pulled  the  great  brass  knob, 
and  in  popped  the  atrocious  beast,  bounc- 
ing and  frisking. 

52 


"He  seems  lively  enough,"  remarked 
Breyten,  just  as  he  tore  a  considerable 
rent  in  Miss  Banderet's  gown.  "Shall  I 
fling  him  out  again?" 

"No,"  she  said,  rather  pathetically  re- 
garding the  damage.  Then  she  pounced 
upon  Bobby  and  took  him  in  her  arms, 
where  he  delightedly  nestled,  winking  his 
wicked  little  eyes  and  protruding  his 
tongue. 

"I  met  a  gentleman  at  the  gate,"  he 
quickly  said,  "your  father,  I  suppose,  and 
he  told  me  to  come  in,  that  you  were  here ; 
so  I  thought  I  might  step  in  and  inquire 
if  you  lost  anything  of  value  under  the 
bridge  the  other  day  during  the  storm." 

She  looked  up  at  him  very  demurely 
while  he  was  fumbling  in  his  cap  for  the 
handkerchief,  which,  when  he  had  dis- 
engaged it,  he  held  towards  her.  The  dog 
snatched  it,  but  she  took  it  from  him  and 
53 


quickly  scrutinized  it,  then  laughed. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said ;  "but  it  was  not 
worth  the  trouble." 

"Perhaps  this  is  more  valuable,"  and 
he  produced  the  little  book,  which  Bobby 
promptly  snapped  at  in  vain.  Breyten 
held  it  above  his  reach. 

"It  is  kind  of  you.  The  book  is  of  ac- 
count to  me."  She  took  it  almost  eagerly. 
"I  am  glad  to  get  it." 

"Then  why  did  you  run  away  and  leave 
it  in  my  possession?" 

"An  explanation  would  not  be  inter- 
esting/' she  said,  as  if  to  close  the  con- 
versation. "You  have  been  very  kind." 
She  took  a  step  away  from  him;  he  felt 
dismissed.  He  laid  a  hand  upon  the  door- 
knob and  looked  up  at  the  stucco  rosette 
on  the  ceiling,  from  which  depended  a 
curious  old  chandelier,  then  again  straight 
into  her  beautiful  eyes.  There  was  in 
54 


his  gaze  a  frank  appeal  for  more  generous 
treatment,  but  she  only  looked  down  and 
patted  Bobby's  villainous  head  with  the 
little  red  book  just  recovered. 

Another  luminous  thought  flared  across 
Breyten's  mind.  So  he  laughed  and  said  : 

"This  is  the  first  time  that  I  was  ever  in 
a  house  where  they  didn't  offer  me  a 
chair.  Even  when  they  put  me  in  jail  in 
Russia,  thinking  me  an  assassin,  they 
bade  me  be  seated." 

There  was  something  irresistibly  pleas- 
ing in  his  voice.  His  nature  charged  it 
with  unmistakable  honesty. 

Rosalynde  Banderet's  cheeks  flushed  as 
she  looked  up  to  meet  his  smiling  eyes. 
He  was  certainly  the  handsomest  man  she 
had  ever  seen,  and  there  could  be  no  doubt 
about  his  gentility  and  his  worthiness: 
such  a  man  could  not  be  capable  of  abus- 


55 


ing  confidence ;  and  besides,  what  possible 
harm  could  come  of  treating  him  kindly  ? 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said,  "I  was 
very  thoughtless.  I — " 

"You  shall  forgive  me,  rather,"  he 
hastened  to  break  in  with,  "and  I  will 
try  to  make  amends  for  my  foolish  bold- 
ness. Of  course,  I'm  a  stranger;  I  have 
no  right  to  overstep  a  stranger's  limita- 
tions. I  was  staying  here  for  a  few 
days ;  I  could  not  go  away  without  bring- 
ing the  book  and  the  handkerchief  to  you ; 
but  it  was  impossible  to  come  with  letters 
of  introduction  or  give  a  bond  for  my 
good  behavior.  It's  hard  on  a  fellow  to 
be  a  stranger  among  strangers.  I  feel 
helpless." 

His  tone  was  light  to  a  degree ;  but  un- 
der it  something  like  deep  regret  welled 
up  and  thrilled  Rosalynde  strangely,  mak- 


ing  her  feel  that  in  some  way  she  was 
wronging  him.  She  had  never  been  in  the 
presence  of  a  man  who  was  so  much  a 
stranger  in  a  wide  sense  of  the  word. 
He  impressed  her  as  one  who  had  come 
from  a  very  far  country  where  men  were 
greatly  different  from  those  of  her  ac- 
quaintance ;  but  instead  of  being  romantic 
on  that  account,  he  seemed  intensely  real, 
concentratedly  modern,  and  unconven- 
tional. She  was  not  thinking  this;  her 
mind  lay  confused  and  fluttering,  so  to 
say,  unable  to  analyze  or  understand  its 
condition;  but  the  impression  was  clear 
enough  afterwards,  when  Breyten  had 
gone  away. 

"Ours  has  been  a  short  and  curious  ac- 
quaintance," he  said.  "I  presume  that 
it  ends  here,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it.  Good- 
by,  Miss  Banderet."  He  let  go  the  knob, 


57 


shifted  his  cap  into  his  left  hand,  and 
held  his  right  towards  her. 

Bobby  obligingly  took  it  between  his 
acicular  teeth  with  surprising  deftness 
and  vigor.  It  was  bleeding  when  Breyten 
snatched  it  away,  his  grimace  telling 
how  hard  it  was  not  to  wring  Bobby's 
neck  on  the  spot.  Miss  Banderet  apolo- 
gized ;  she  even  flung  the  little  dog  down 
and  made  him  hasten  about  scamper- 
ing out  of  the  hall ;  then  she  offered  to  ex- 
amine Breyten's  hurt,  and  finally  ban- 
daged the  bleeding  hand,  which  was  but 
scratched,  with  the  handkerchief  that  he 
had  returned  to  her.  This  accomplished, 
there  seemed  to  be  nothing  further  to  say 
or  do,  only  Breyten  thought  that  they 
might  make  another  attempt  to  say 
good-by. 

When  Breyten  rode  away  from  the  gate 


he  saw  Rayle  coming  up  the  sidewalk 
towards  the  house.  He  was  hobbling 
along  painfully,  leaning  on  his  knotty 
stick. 


QNC^P  ter,_5eveK 

Rosalynde  Banderet  was  the  orphan  of 
a  soldier,  who,  wounded  at  Gettysburg, 
had  lingered  a  cripple  for  twenty  years 
and  died,  leaving  her,  his  only  child, 
motherless,  to  be  cared  for  by  her  grand- 
father, General  Lucien  Banderet,  a  dis- 
tinguished politician.  These  particulars 
Breyten  learned  without  much  exertion. 
It  furthermore  came  to  him  that  the 
General  was  having  some  trouble  about 
securing  the  nomination  he  desired.  It 
seemed  that  a  younger  man,  reputed  to  be 
very  rich,  was  becoming  a  dangerous  an- 
6c 


tagonist.  The  General's  financial  condition 
forbidding  what  is  called  righting  fire  with 
fire,  his  friends  were  feeling  that  unless 
something  better  than  mere  oratory  could 
be  offered  in  his  behalf  there  might  soon 
be  a  stampede  in  favor  of  the  man  with 
the  money,  and  the  situation  was  the  sub- 
ject of  hot  street  talk,  which  could  not 
be  excluded  from  the  smoking-room  of 
the  hotel. 

Breyten  opened  his  ears  to  all  this  and 
more.  It  interested  him  peculiarly  on  ac- 
count of  Miss  Banderet's  indirect  con- 
nection with  it.  He  felt  that  in  some  way 
he  had  a  part  to  perform  in  the  drama 
which  seemed  about  to  open. 

He  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  little  smoking- 
room,  and,  though  not  a  smoker  himself, 
enjoyed  seeing  Rayle  puff  out  the  fra- 
grance of  a  dark  Havana  that  he  had  given 
him,  while  three  or  four  political  workers 
61 


at  a  little  distance  were  cautiously  yet 
violently  debating  the  advisability  of  the 
party  demanding  General  Banderet's 
withdrawal  from  the  race.  The  men  were 
from  Indianapolis,  and  had  been  sent  to 
Hawford  to  inquire  into  the  matter. 

"Well,  all  I've  got  to  say,  I  can  say 
right  now,"  blurted  one  of  them.  "A  man 
who  can't  raise  enough  money  to  make  a 
decent  campaign's  got  no  business  stick- 
ing up  his  head  for  a  nomination.  There's 
too  much  at  stake;  we  can't  afford  any 
nonsense.  Of  course,  General  Banderet 
is  the  very  man  we  want,  personally ;  but 
he's  in  no  financial  shape.  Why,  there's  a 
mortgage  on  everything  he's  got ;  even  the 
house  he  lives  in's  got  six  thousand  on  it." 

"All  the  old  soldiers  are  behind  the 
General ;  he  can  get  them  every  one,  Dem- 
ocrat and  Republican.  If  we  pull  him  off 
62 


they'll  all  be  mad,  and  the  devil'll  be  to 

pay." 

"Well,  then,  we'll  have  to  spring  a  dark 
horse;  for  there's  no  use  talking,  we've 
got  to  have  money.  We  can't  turn  a  wheel 
without  it." 

These  scraps  of  the  mumbled  yet  earn- 
est conversation,  hotly  spiced  with  pro- 
fanity and  slang,  drifted  brokenly  into 
Breyten's  ears.  It  seemed  that  Rayle, 
too,  heard  some  of  it;  for  he  presently 
leaned  forward  and  said,  speaking  low : 

"As  I  said  to  you  in  my  studio,  it  re- 
quires money  to  do  anything,  Mr.  Brey- 
ten,  no  matter  what.  Of  course,  if  the  old 
General  is  nominated  they  will  all  support 
him,  money  or  no  money.  What  he  needs 
is  five  or  ten  thousand  dollars  to  take  him 
through  the  convention,  and  it  looks  as 
if  he  will  not  be  able  to  raise  that  amount 
or  any  other." 

a  63 


"But,  if  he  is  honest,  how  can  he  use 
money  in  politics?"  Breyten  demanded 
with  unhesitating  bluntness. 

"He  couldn't  and  wouldn't  use  it  cor- 
ruptingly,"  said  Rayle ;  "he's  above  it,  and 
besides,  there's  no  need.  What  he  wants 
is  money  to  rent  half  of  the  best  hotel  in 
Indianapolis  for  a  week,  and  to  bear  his 
expenses  through  the  convention:  wine 
and  cigars  for  his  friends,  a  brass  band, 
and  a  hundred  or  so  clackers.  You  see  a 
great  deal  depends  upon  show  and  noise. 
The  General  understands  the  business,  if 
he  but  had  capital.  He  has  never  been 
beaten ;  but  this  time  it  looks  as  though  he 
might  go  under.  His  enemies  have  set  his 
creditors  to  nagging  him  just  at  the  right 
time  to  injure  him  most." 

"But  would  election  help  the  matter  in 
the  long  run?  Would  that  probably  save 
him?" 

64 


"Certainly.  It  would  give  him  credit, 
and,  if  necessary,  aid.  If  he  carried  the 
party  through,  it  could  afford  to  be 
liberal." 

Breyten  was  silent  for  a  while.  Pres- 
ently, in  a  casual  tone,  he  inquired: 

"Has  the  General  any  family — any  one 
dependent  upon  him  for  support?" 

"His  granddaughter." 

"Miss  Rosalynde?" 

"Yes." 

A  steady,  hard,  searching  look  passed 
between  the  two  young  men.  It  was  as  if 
by  a  single  thrust  of  the  eyes  they  meant 
to  pierce  each  other  through  and  be  done. 
After  a  moment  Breyten  said:  "It's 
pathetic;  it's  a  shame." 

They  parted  for  the  night  without 
further  discussion  of  the  subject  in  which 
they  had  been  so  easily  and  so  disturb- 
ingly entangled  together.  Breyten  went 
65 


to  his  room  with  a  dim  sense  of  "being  on 
the  brink  of  some  new  and  questionable 
experience,  in  which,  as  in  a  bewildered 
mist,  he  should  have  to  feel  his  way 
blindly.  And  his  night-cap  resolution  was 
that  he  would  quietly  wheel  away  from 
Haw  ford  on  the  morrow's  morning. 


66 


Q>  copier  £i 


Freedom  to  do  just  as  he  wished  doubt- 
less operated  against  Breyten  when  morn- 
ing came,  and  he  faced  his  resolve  of  the 
night  before.  He  was  up  early,  feeling  the 
intoxication  of  pure  delight  in  life.  From 
his  wide  open  windows  he  saw  that  Haw- 
ford  was  responding  through  all  its 
groves  and  gardens  to  an  access  of  golden 
weather. 

Suddenly  he  recollected  that  he  had  de- 

termined upon  wheeling  away  from  Haw- 

ford,  that  he  ought  to  be  packing  his  bags 

and  giving  orders  about  how  and  where 

67 


they  were  to  be  sent  to  intercept  him.  He 
grinned  indulgently  at  himself,  as  it  were, 
feeling  that  there  was  about  as  much  like- 
lihood of  an  earthquake  before  breakfast 
as  that  he  should  depart  without  again 
seeing  Miss  Rosalynde  Banderet. 

He  rang  and  ordered  a  simple  break- 
fast brought  to  his  room,  ate  heartily, 
sipped  his  coffee  in  a  reverie  as  brown 
as  the  liquid  itself,  and  then  wrote  two  or 
three  letters,  one  of  which  comes  within 
the  limits  of  this  history.  It  was  to  his 
confidential  agent  and  attorney  in  New 
York.  Part  of  it  ran  thus : 

"You  will  please  send  at  once  fifteen 
thousand  dollars  to  the  First  National 
Bank  of  Hawford,  Indiana,  to  be  placed 
to  the  credit  of  General  Lucien  Banderet. 
Do  this  in  such  a  way  that  said  Banderet 
can  never  find  out  whence  the  money 
68 


came.    I  am  particular  on  this  point 

/  also  desire  you  to  send  to  the  same  bank, 
with  the  same  secrecy,  five  thousand  dol- 
lars to  be  credited  to  Alfred  Rayle.  You 
will  write  a  letter  to  each  of  the  above- 
named  persons,  informing  him  curtly  of 
the  fact  that  a  friend  who  wishes  to  be 
unknown  has  sent  the  money.  To  General 
Lucien  Banderet  you  will  say  further  that 
a  part  of  the  money  is  to  pay  the  mort- 
gage on  his  home  in  Hawford,  the  rest 
is  to  defray  the  expenses  of  his  campaign 
for  the  office  of  governor.  To  Alfred 
Rayle  say  that  he  is  to  use  the  amount 
sent  him  in  pursuing  art-study  in  Paris. 
Be  careful  that  nothing  in  your  letter 
(which  is  to  bear  no  signature)  can  pos- 
sibly suggest  a  clue  to  the  donor.  I  trust 
you  to  attend  to  this  promptly  and 
cleverly" 

Breyten  smiled  a  self-approving  smile 
69 


and  stroked  his  mustache  when  this  letter 
had  been  sealed  and  addressed;  his  face 
showed  that  he  felt  the  stimulation  fol- 
lowing a  disinterested  act  of  kindness. 

And  now  for  a  ten-mile  morning  spin; 
he  must  work  off  his  excess  of  animal 
energy,  and  at  the  same  time  have  the 
wide  country's  ample  room  in  which  to 
waste  his  accumulation  of  pleasant,  nay 
joyous,  fancies. 

A  young  man  with  an  annual  net  in- 
come of  two  hundred  thousand  dollars  is 
to  be  congratulated  when  he  finds  five 
thousand  a  year  an  ample  allowance  for 
all  his  wants.  To  some  men  the  surplus 
one  hundred  and  ninety-five  thousand 
would  be  a  most  exhilarating  matter  of 
contemplation,  especially  when  the  capital 
affording  it  was  mostly  in  desirable  busi- 
ness buildings  and  government  bonds, 
giving  the  least  possible  trouble  to  their 
70 


owner.  But  Breyten  had  no  feeling  one 
way  or  another  about  his  continually  in- 
creasing wealth;  it  was  a  part  of  him, 
so  that,  when  he  used  it,  the  act  was,  like 
breathing  or  eating  or,  perhaps,  yawn- 
ing, a  mere  response  to  some  actual  or 
fancied  need. 

A  sudden  impulse  to  scorch  for  a  mile 
or  two  sent  him  off  at  a  reckless  gait, 
dusting  the  air  behind  him,  grinding  the 
surface-pebbles  under  the  growling  tires. 
He  sped  like  a  shot,  ricochetting  rapidly 
yet  almost  imperceptibly  along  the  road- 
way to  some  distant  and  invisible  target. 

And  Breyten  was  a  missile  speeding 
straight  to  a  target.  It  was  fate.  His  im- 
mense energy  was  driving  him  faster  and 
faster,  and  unerringly.  He  forgot  that 
he  was  in  a  public  highway  where  other 
people,  every  person,  indeed,  in  the  whole 
world,  had  as  much  right  to  tnove  as  he ; 


forgot  that  it  was  unlawful  to  go  tearing 
madly  in  the  path  of  the  people's  pleas- 
ure and  traffic ;  forgot,  in  short,  where  he 
was,  what  he  was,  and  what  way  he  was 
flying,  until  presently  he  hit  the  target.  It 
was  at  a  turn  of  the  road. 

Breyten  was  going  head  down,  seeing 
the  roadway  not  farther  than  twenty  feet 
before  him,  the  intoxication  of  rapid  mo- 
tion adding  to  his  strenuous  expenditure 
of  force.  His  short,  curly  hair  fluttered 
and  gleamed  as  the  air  caught  it;  the 
muscles  on  the  back  of  his  neck  were 
taut,  standing  forth,  smooth  and  large, 
while  the  motion  of  his  limbs  gave  to  his 
body  a  slight  rhythmical  sway  from  side 
to  side.  It  was  at  last  a  speed  dangerous 
to  the  bicycle's  machinery ;  for  the  man's 
weight,  at  such  speed,  made  the  impact 
of  tire  upon  pebble  or  insignificant  bump 
in  the  road  a  stroke  of  almost  incalculable 
72 


power.  But  in  the  glow  of  excitement, 
feeling  the  scorcher's  delicious  madness 
bubbling  in  his  blood,  Breyten  thought  of 
nothing,  save  yet  a  little  increment  of 
speed,  until  at  the  turn  of  the  road — 
crash ! 

Now,  just  before  the  catastrophe,  there 
was  a  flash  of  yellow  and  brown.  It  was 
as  if  an  oriole  had  come  darting  down  the 
road  to  meet  him,  and  Breyten  knew  in 
that  twinkle  of  tragic  time  just  what  it 
was. 

They  rushed  together — and  the  end  of  it 
was  a  realistic  accident  at  which  the  com- 
munity was  called  upon  to  grimace  and 
shudder.  The  man  and  the  maid  were 
found  lying  insensible  side  by  side  in  the 
road  amid  the  tangled  shreds  of  their 
bicycles.  Breyten  had  a  double  fracture 
of  the  right  leg  and  a  concussion  which 
at  first  bade  fair  to  kill  him  without  a  re- 
73 


turn  to  consciousness.  Miss  Rosalynde 
Banderet  had  no  bones  broken,  yet  she 
was,  the  doctors  feared,  more  dangerously 
hurt  than  Breyten:  possibly  there  was  a 
spinal  lesion. 

It  was  a  nine-day  subject  of  conversa- 
tion in  Hawford,  a  bit  of  choice  news  for 
the  daily  papers,  and  then  General  Ban- 
deret's  household  was  left  with  the  main 
burden  to  bear ;  for  in  the  excitement  and 
confusion  following  the  terrible  affair 
Breyten  had  been  taken  along  with  Miss 
Banderet  to  the  General's  home,  and 
there  the  doctors  said  he  would  have  to 
stay,  or  die  in  course  of  removal.  Of 
course,  he  stayed,  and  for  a  long  time.  As 
usual,  however,  the  doctors  were  wrong 
in  their  first  hasty  conclusion,  especially 
as  to  Miss  Banderet's  injuries.  Barring  a 
great  shock  and  some  painful  contusions, 
neither  dangerous  nor  disfiguring,  she  es- 
74 


caped  whole,  and  was  out  of  bed  within 
a  week.  The  missile  was  hurt  far  worse 
than  the  target.  Breyten  lay  for  two 
months,  his  heart-beats  mere  pendulum- 
strokes  counting  the  uncertainties  of  his 
fluttering,  faltering  life.  The  efficient 
surgeon  attending  him  exhausted  his 
science  and  art,  made  the  fight  for  him 
with  consummate  watchfulness  and  pa- 
tience, and,  aided  by  Breyten's  perfect 
physical  soundness  and  vigor,  at  last 
gained  the  victory. 

Meantime  the  remittances  arrived  from 
the  unknown  donor,  fifteen  thousand  to 
the  General,  five  thousand  to  Alfred 
Rayle.  The  notification  from  the  First 
National  Bank  of  Hawford  was  the  first 
hint  to  the  lucky  men  of  their  strange 
stroke  of  fortune;  but  neither  knew  the 
other's  surprising  secret.  General  Band- 
eret  could  not  credit  his  vision  when  he 
75 


opened  the  note,  so  he  bustled  off  to  the 
bank  in  an  ill-suppressed  mood  of  mind 
bordering  on  utter  demoralization,  but  he 
managed  to  appear  reasonably  indifferent, 
as  if  the  whole  affair  were  a  matter  of 
course.  There  was  no  explanation  forth- 
coming, and  he  demanded  none.  The 
credit  was  duly  entered  in  the  little  yel- 
low bank-book  that  he  always  carried  in 
the  inside  pocket  of  his  long  frock-coat; 
then  he  cracked  some  political  jokes  with 
the  cashier,  who  was  of  the  other  party, 
and  went  out  laughing. 

As  for  Rayle,  his  surprise  came  like  a 
blow,  leaving  him  numb  and  dazed.  He 
could  not  think  nor  feel  on  the  subject. 
For  a  whole  day  he  carried  the  bank's  curt 
notification  in  his  pocket  and  did  nothing 
about  it.  When  he  began  to  recover  his 
reasoning  powers,  the  first  impression  was 
that  some  person  had  attempted  a  joke 
76 


upon  him,  and  he  came  near  tearing  up 
the  note;  but  after  sleeping  a  night  over 
it  he  was  impatient  for  the  bank  to  open 
in  the  morning  so  that  he  could  test  the 
matter.  What  if  it  were  true! 

"You're  in  luck,"  said  the  cashier  pleas- 
antly. "Wish  somebody'd  do  something 
like  it  for  me." 

"Who— who  was  it?"  Rayle  demanded, 
his  voice  almost  betraying  his  deep  inner 
excitement. 

"You  know  as  much  about  it  as  we  do," 
said  the  cashier  rather  indifferently.  "It's 
from  New  York,  and  no  name  given." 
He  smiled  perfunctorily  and  turned  to 
another  customer. 

On  his  way  back  to  his  room  Rayle 
dropped  in  at  the  post-office,  where  he  was 
handed  the  anonymous  letter  from  Brey- 
ten's  attorney  in  New  York.  This  added 
heavily  to  the  weight  of  mystery.  Ge;i- 
77 


eral  Banderet  fared  the  same,  but  fancied 
that  his  windfall  came  from  a  political 
source;  he  even  suspected  a  very  rich 
friend  of  his  in  New  York.  But  Rayle 
had  no  clue.  To  him  the  whole  thing 
was  like  a  golden  dream,  out  of  which  he 
half  expected  to  be  startled  at  the  next 
moment  by  some  realistic  sound  or  touch. 

A  day  or  two  passed  before  he  could 
break  his  secret  to  Rosalynde,  whose  rapid 
convalescence  was  already  advanced  to 
the  stage  of  sitting,  airily  robed,  on  a  win- 
dow-seat in  the  library,  and  looking  out 
under  the  trees  at  the  robins  hopping 
gingerly  in  the  short  grass. 

Miss  Banderet's  prompt  acceptance  of 
her  lover's  good  luck  as  quite  a  reality, 
to  be  made  the  most  of  without  delay, 
greatly  encouraged  Rayle,  lifted  him  out 
of  the  fog,  so  to  speak,  and  sent  him  in  the 
way  of  clearly  viewing  the  situation. 
78 


They  talked  it  all  over  and  over,  as 
lovers  are  wont  to  talk  over  every 
new  turn  in  their  prospect,  and  settled  and 
unsettled  the  plan  of  action  as  often  as 
they  talked,  until  it  was  finally  determined 
that  Rayle  must  at  once  set  out  for  Paris 
and  rush  his  studies  with  all  his  might, 
cram  two  or  three  years  into  one,  seize 
upon  the  rich  core  of  art  and  tear  it  out 
for  his  own  separate  use  and  benefit,  then 
come  back  ready  for  work  that  should 
amaze  the  world.  It  looked  so  possible, 
so  probable,  so  certain,  so  easy  to  their 
simple  provincial  vision,  which  could  not 
distinguish  the  humor  and  the  pathos  of 
the  picture  nor  the  stiff  seriousness  lurk- 
ing in  its  every  line.  However,  Rayle 
has  his  money,  he  has  kissed  Rosalynde. 
and  with  a  high  heart  is  off  for  Paris. 


rA.t  the  time  of  Alfred  Rayle's  depart- 
ure for  Paris,  Breyten  was  lying  helpless 
in  bed,  scarcely  conscious,  with  his  leg  in 
a  plaster  cast.  The  doctors,  however,  had 
decided  that  he  would  get  well,  provided 
no  unexpected  trouble  should  set  in;  for 
already  the  man's  amazing  strength  and 
vitality  were  doing  wonders,  and  the 
wounds  showed  unmistakable  signs  of  bet- 
terment from  day  to  day.  The  most  diffi- 
cult and  dangerous  part  of  the  surgeon's 
task  was  managing  the  injury  at  the  back 
80 


of  Bremen's  head,  the  cause  of  his  semi- 
comatose  condition. 

In  June  Breyten  began  to  bring  himself 
together,  slowly  comprehending  his  con- 
dition, taking  cognizance  of  his  surround- 
ings detail  by  detail,  what  time  a  phleg- 
matic male  nurse  shuffled  noiselessly  in 
and  out  of  his  large,  airy  room.  He  was 
consolingly  aware,  as  by  an  indirect  beam 
of  consciousness,  that  he  had  been  having 
glimpses  of  Rosalynde  Banderet  flitting 
to  and  fro  somewhere  within  the  field  of 
vision,  a  bright  and  lissome  figure  gently 
rustling,  sweetly  suggestive  of  heliotrope 
and  violet ;  and  as  he  waxed  stronger,  his 
mind  clearing  apace,  there  came  upon  him 
a  great  desire  to  have  her  at  his  bedside 
to  look  at  and  talk  to.  Her  voice  was 
somewhere  near  the  foreground  of  his 
memory,  as  if  it  had  just  died  on  the  air 
and  were  still  sweetly  echoing  within  him. 
81 


He  knew  that  during  his  half-conscious 
state  she  had  hovered  near,  and  that  with 
the  first  dawn  of  his  recovery  she  had 
slipped  away.  It  was  delicious  knowledge, 
just  suited  to  his  mood  as  he  lay  on  his 
back  contemplating  the  stucco  rosette  in 
the  middle  of  the  ceiling.  He  heard  the  old 
clock  on  the  stair-landing  pounding  off 
the  seconds,  and  with  the  tail  of  an  eye 
saw  the  flaccid  red-haired  nurse  sitting 
by  a  window  reading  a  book.  There  was 
a  vast  comicality  in  the  fellow's  expres- 
sion. 

"Well,  now,  who  upon  earth  are  you  ?" 
Breyten  demanded,  after  studying  the 
stolid  face  and  stuffy  figure  for  five  min- 
utes. His  voice  was  not  as  weak  as  one 
would  have  expected  it  to  be,  yet  it  lacked 
the  fulness  and  the  resonant  power  it 
once  had.  "You  are  deaf  and  dumb,  eh  ?" 


82 


he  added,  when  the  nurse,  taken  by  sur- 
prise, failed  to  speak. 

"Yes,  sir — um,  no,  sir.  What'd  you 
say,  sir?" 

Breyten  tried  to  laugh,  but  his  facial 
muscles  acted  stiffly  and  appeared  to  draw 
his  eyes  deeper  into  his  head.  He  was 
sadly  emaciated. 

"Sh-h,  sir,"  continued  the  nurse,  laying 
aside  the  book  and  lifting  a  hand  with 
deprecatory  emphasis.  "You're  not  to 
talk  now ;  'taint  good  for  ye." 

Breyten  reflected  a  moment  in  some 
confusion ;  then — 

"You  put  on  airs.  When  were  you 
elected  governor  of  me?"  he  half-rmmor- 
ously,  half-petulantly  inquired.  "'Hand 
me  something  to  throw  at  your  head." 

Just  then  the  surgeon  entered,  moving 
to  the  bedside  with  catlike  swiftness,  his 
bland  face  beaming  surprise  and  interro- 
83 


gation.  He  looked  at  Breyten  as  if  he  ex- 
pected something  tragic;  but  his  face 
quickly  brightened. 

"Ah,  good-morning,"  he  said,  laying  a 
hand  gently  upon  his  patient's  wrist. 
"You  feel  pretty  well,  I  see.  Don't  worry 
yourself  to  speak.  I'm  your  doctor," — 
this  in  answer  to  an  inquiring  look, — "and 
I  don't  want  you  to  think  or  speak  much 
for  a  while.  Your  pulse  is  excellent,  you 
are  getting  on  famously.  All  that  you 
need  is  rest.  You  must  be  patient," — 
Breyten  had  scowled  atrociously  at  him; 
— "you  must  not  excite  yourself;  you — " 

"I  want  some  water — cold  water,  a 
quart — to  drink,"  Breyten  hoarsely  inter- 
rupted; "I've  a  beastly  thirst." 

Obedient  to  the  doctor's  glance,  the  nurse 

shuffled  out ;  but  before  he  returned  with 

the  water  Breyten  had  fallen  away  again 

into  a  gentle  sleep,  from  which  he  did  not 

84 


for  two  hours.  He  dreamed  of  Rosa- 
lynde.  He  saw  her  before  him,  close,  and 
yet  far  off,  as  if  through  miles  of  shimmer- 
ing mist.  He  spoke  to  her,  but  without 
voice,  quite  unable  to  make  her  hear;  he 
tried  to  touch  her,  but  his  hand  lay  power- 
less; at  the  same  time  he  heard  a  dove 
cooing,  and  felt  a  light  current  of  air  run- 
ning over  him  with  soothing  effect,  and  he 
knew  that  the  window  beside  his  bed  was 
open.  Then  the  old  clock  on  the  stair- 
landing  struck  eleven,  and  he  half  opened 
his  eyes. 

Rosalynde  Banderet  was  gliding  to- 
wards the  door  that  gave  into  the  hall. 
Half  turned  from  him,  her  face  showed  a 
pretty,  clear-cut  profile. 

"Don't  go  away  from  me ;  come  back ! 
come  back !"  he  suddenly  called.  "I  want 
you." 

She  faced  him  with  a  quick  startled 
85 


movement,  and  a  sweet  smile  flashed  over 
her  face. 

"You  might  be  kind  to  a  fellow  in  such 
need,"  he  said.  "Sit  on  the  chair  here 
and — what's  the  matter  with  me?  My 

leg-" 

She  moved  quickly  to  his  bedside.  The 
nurse  came  in  with  the  water. 

"What  has  happened  to  me?"  Breyten 
inquired  after  a  pause,  during  which  he 
was  weakly  fumbling,  trying  to  make  out 
the  meaning  of  the  plaster  cast  on  his  leg. 

"You've  been  hurt,  sir,  and  you  mustn't 
talk,"  said  the  nurse. 

But  he  did  talk,  and  finally  there  was 
nothing  to  do  short  of  explaining  every- 
thing to  him. 

In  a  few  days  he  was  eating  well  and 
looking  much  better.     Slowly  his  cheeks 
filled  out  and  his  eyes  regained  their  hap- 
py, steadfast,  magnetic  light. 
86 


Miss  Banderet  was  kind  to  him.  She 
chatted  with  him,  saw  that  the  house- 
keeper and  servants  neglected  nothing 
conducive  to  his  comfort,  and,  when  the 
doctor  at  last  permitted  it,  she  read  to 
him  an  hour  every  day.  This  hour  had 
its  fascination  growing  upon  Breyten  rap- 
idly from  the  first.  He  looked  forward 
to  it  with  impatience  and  back  at  it  with 
tender,  reminiscent  delight. 

One  day  during  the  reading  a  little 
servant-girl  came  to  the  open  door  with 
letters  from  the  post-office.  Rosalynde 
pounced  eagerly  upon  her,  and,  snatching 
the  tray,  selected  her  own  mail,  then  gave 
Breyten  his,  and  was  off  to  her  room, 
leaving  behind  her  an  indescribable,  tan- 
talizing impression  of  flower-like  purity 
quaintly  sophisticated  with  provincial  wis^ 
dom.  He  lay  for  a  long  time  thinking 
over  all  that  had  passed  since  that  day  at 

8? 


the  bridge,  and  trying  to  realize  the  mean- 
ing of  it,  for  somehow  one  always  feels 
that  there  is  a  meaning  in  each  group 
of  incidents  affecting  one's  life. 

There  was,  however,  a  certain  drop  of 
gall  in  Bis  cup  of  reflections.  The  glimpse 
of  a  foreign  postage-stamp  on  one  of 
Rosalynde's  letters,  and  the  flush  of  joy 
on  her  cheek  when  she  saw  it,  told  him 
that  the  missive  was  from  Rayle. 


88 


During  the  tedious  process  of  what 
Breyten  called  "sloughing  his  shell," 
which  was  getting  rid  of  the  plaster  cast, 
there  was  not  much  that  he  could  do  for 
himself  beyond  nagging  at  the  nurse, 
Harper,  and  counting  the  seconds  be- 
tween times  when  Rosalynde,  a  punctual 
visitor,  came  in  to  see  him;  but  when  at 
last  the  stiff  crust  was  removed  from  his 
leg  he  began  forthwith  to  contemplate  get- 
ting out  of  bed.  Here  again  he  surprised 
the  little  surgeon,  for  the  fractures  were 
found  to  be  already  not  only  firmly  knit, 
89 


but  in  every  way  well,  so  that  within  less 
than  a  week  he  could  use  his  leg  with  al- 
most perfect  freedom. 

"That's  your  sound  constitution,  your 
absolutely  pure  blood,  your  vigorous 
nerve-centers,"  said  the  man  of  science  in 
a  warmly  appreciative  tone.  "You've 
never  abused  your  fine  physique,  and  in 
turn  it  is  good  to  you  in  your  hour  of 
need." 

Breyten  decided  that  he  would  go  back 
to  the  hotel,  but  General  Banderet  laid  his 
veto  upon  the  proposition. 

"No,  sir,  you  will  permit  me  to  be  firm," 
said  the  fine  old  man.  "I  can  not  let  you 
be  hauled  away  from  my  house.  When- 
ever the  doctor  says  that  you  can  safely 
walk  to  the  hotel,  then  you  may  go,  if  you 
must.  Meantime,  just  to  please  me,  you 
will  stay  right  where  you  are." 

Tbe  nominating  convention  was  close 
90 


at  hand,  and  the  General  had  little  leisure. 
His  young  opponent  showed  great  re- 
sources and  no  scruples  whatever  in  using 
them;  he  forced  the  old  "war-horse"  to 
such  a  pitch  of  speed  that  there  was  dan- 
ger of  a  break.  Excitement  reached  a 
stage  pretty  accurately  indicated  by  the 
newspaper  headlines  and  double-leaded 
editorials,  which  somehow  made  the  very 
types  look  frantic.  Breyten  read  the 
blatant  literature  of  the  campaign  with  a 
growing  impression  that  General  Bande- 
ret  was  pretty  sure  to  be  defeated ;  and  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  a  thrill  of 
political  partisanship  stir  his  blood. 

"Unless  something  almost  miraculous 
can  be  done  in  your  grandfather's  favor," 
he  suddenly  remarked  to  Rosalynde  one 
morning,  "he's  going  to  be  badly  defeat- 
ed in  the  convention." 

She  started  and  gave  him  a  quick  look; 


he  saw  a  faint  pallor  spread  over  her 
cheeks  as  she  said-  "Surely  not.  Why 
do  you  think  so  ?" 

"Well,  I  hardly  know.  I've  been  read- 
ing the  pros  and  cons  in  the  newspapers. 
Somehow  I  feel  catastrophe  in  the  air." 

He  was  sorry  in  a  moment  for  having 
spoken  at  all, — especially  sorry,  realizing 
the  brutal  frankness  of  his  words ;  but  it 
was  too  late  to  avoid  full  responsibility, 
so  he  went  on  giving  in  detail  his  reasons 
for  fearing  that  General  Banderet  was 
hardly  holding  his  own  in  the  race;  but 
he  softened  his  tone. 

"I  despise  politics,"  she  said,  "and  I 
can  not  understand  how  a  man  like  grand- 
father can  be  so  enthusiastic,  so  vehement 
in  pursuit  of  office,  when  he  says  himself 
that  there's  no  pay  in  it." 

"I  imagine  that  it's  not  for  the  salary 

that  he  desires  election,"  Breyten  replied. 
92 


"The  fascination  lies  deeper.  Ambition 
is  a  reckless  rider,  going  at  a  breakneck 
gait  for  the  glo/y  of  the  race  and  the  mad 
sense  of  victory  when  the  shouting  and 
applause  come  on/' 

"It  all  seems — seems  vulgar  to  me." 
She  hesitated,  then  added :  "But  men — it 
is  different  to  them,  I  suppose." 

"Not  to  all  of  them." 

"Not  to  you?" 

"I  have  been  so  much  abroad  that  I 
have  never  yet  cast  a  vote,  much  less  en- 
tered into  the  scramble  of  politics." 

"Alfred  told  me"— she  flushed— "Mr. 
Rayle  mentioned  your  having  studied  art 
in  Paris." 

"He  was  wrong;  I  did  not  study,  I 
played.  I  have  always  played.  Study  is 
a  great  bore.  When  you've  done  your 
utmost  and  learned  something  of  which 
you  hope  to  be  the  one  master,  you  are 
93 


bumped  against  by  a  dozen  or  so  fellows 
who  know  it  ten  times  better  than  you  do. 
What's  the  use?" 

"If  you  are  a  genius,  it  is  different,  isn't 

it?' 

"We  don't  have  geniuses  nowadays.  If 
any  are  born,  they  die  young.  They  starve 
early.  They  can't  make  a  living.  The 
specialists  rob  them." 

"But  Alfred— Mr.  Rayle— is  unfortu- 
nate ;  he  is  crippled,  and  you  advised  him 
— "  She  checked  herself.  "I  mean," 
she  went  on,  "that  his  case  is  different; 
he  could  not  do  physical  labor." 

Breyten  laughed  at  this  absolutely 
frank  disclosure  of  his  real  meaning. 

"We  won't  apply  my  sweeping  state- 
ments to  Mr.  Rayle,"  he  said.  "I  don't 
think  that  he  really  fancies  himself  a 
genius — " 

"Yes,  he  does,"  she  interrupted,  "and  so 
94 


do  I.  He  is  a  genius,  and  he'll  not  fail — 
I  know  he  won't." 

"I  certainly  hope  Mr.  Rayle  will  suc- 
ceed," he  presently  said.  "Of  course,  I 
do  not  know  much  about  him.  He  im- 
pressed me  as  a  man  of  fine  mind  and 
character,  and  he's  handsome,  attractive." 

"But  you  have  no  confidence  in  the  out- 
come of  his  venture;  you  think  he  will 
fail ;  you  may  as  well  say  it." 

"You  must  at  least  be  prepared  for  fail- 
ure. It's  really  the  most  probable  thing ; 
but  I  don't  regard  it  as  calamity.  He 
can  come  back  and  go  at  something  else. 
Art  is  not  the  whole  of  life." 

"I  think  that,  too,"  she  said,  "but  he 
doesn't  To  him  it  is  different.  It's  his 
lameness,  I  believe,  that  makes  him  so 
terribly  in  earnest  I  did  not  want  him  to 
go." 

"tYou  are  going  to  marry  Mr.  Rayle?" 
7  95 


Breyten  was  not  sure  that  such  a  question 
was  in  the  least  proper.  His  training  and 
experience  had  not  been  of  a  sort  to  lead 
him  into  the  refinements  of  conventional 
politeness,  but  he  felt  a  sudden  desire  to 
reach  a  perfect  understanding  with  her, 
to  have  from  her  own  lips  confirmation 
of  what  he  already  felt  could  not  be 
doubted.  And  yet  the  mere  thought  sent 
a  chill  through  his  heart. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  promptly,  as  if  al- 
most eager  to  acknowledge  it ;  "we  are  to 
be  married  when  he  comes  back  from 
Paris.  It  is  no  secret;  our  engagement 
has  been  announced.  This  is  why  I  want- 
ed you  to  tell  me  just  what  you  thought 
of  his  chance  to  win  what  he  went  for." 

"He  will  win,  he  must  win,"  Breyten 

said,  in  a  tone  that  was  very  sympathetic 

and    encouraging.     "In    such    a    case    I 

should  win  or  tear  up  the  whole  French 

96 


metropolis,"  he  added  after  a  pause. 
"When  I  was  there  I  had  no  incentive 
such  as — such  as  you  have  given  him. 
Were  I  but  m  his  place — "  He  caught 
himself  and  broke  off  the  sentence.  "If 
he  is  worthy  of  his  fortune,  he  will  mould 
fate  to  his  liking." 

The  girl's  brown  eyes  read  his  heart 
while  he  was  speaking  in  this  half-evasive 
way,  and  she  felt  a  strange  pang  in  her 
own  breast ;  but  there  was  nothing  for  her 
to  say  to  him,  nothing  to  do  but  remark 
that  her  time  was  up,  that  she  must  go  and 
attend  to  other  duties. 

"My  time  is  up,  too,"  he  said  with  a 
shadowy  smile.  "I  also  must  go.  You 
have  been  so  good  to  me.  It's  choking 
me  to  say  farewell."  He  rose  and  held 
out  his  hand.  "What  a  very  angel  of 
kindness  and  comfort  you  have  been  to 
me !  Good-by." 

97 


"But  no,  you  are  not  going  now  ?"  she 
said,  making  a  move  to  take  his  hand,  but 
arresting  it  at  the  start.  "You — you  are 
not  well  enough."  Her  voice  faltered  in 
her  throat. 

"The  doctor  says  I  am.  And  besides, 
it's  time :  you  know  it  is.  Good-by."  He 
spoke  huskily. 

She  offered  her  hand  now,  and  he  was 
sensible  enough  to  take  no  liberty  of 
pressure  or  detention.  It  was,  indeed,  a 
curiously  abrupt  leave-taking.  General 
Banderet  was  out. 

"I  will  see  him  down  town,  soon,  and 
give  him  my  gratitude  and  adieux,"  said 
Breyten,  trying  to  be  airily  cheerful.  And 
so  he  went,  not  trusting  himself  to  look 
back  until  the  street-gate  clinked  be- 
hind him.  His  heart  was  pounding  at 
his  throat,  a  sensation  he  had  never  before 
felt,  and  while  he  stood  for  a  long  minute 
98 


gazing  at  the  stately  old  house,  he  realized 
how  powerless  he  was  to  resist  something 
that  had  laid  hold  of  him.  Moreover,  he 
knew  just  what  it  was. 

"I  love  her!  I  love  her!"  he  panted 
forth,  all  unconscious  of  the  stage-face  he 
was  making,  or  of  the  almost  ludicrous 
melodramatic  attitude  he  assumed  as  he 
clutched  the  top  of  the  gate  and  appeared 
on  the  point  of  rending  it. 

Then  he  let  go  his  hold  on  the  gate  and 
turned  towards  the  hotel,  shaking  off  the 
mood  with  a  smile  of  returning  self-con- 
fidence. He  walked  without  limping, 
scarcely  showing  a  sign  of  his  recent  in- 
juries. 

A 


99 


As  soon  as  Breyten  was  gone,  Rosa- 
lynde  began  to  realize  that  his  presence 
in  the  house  had  meant  a  great  deal  to  her. 
A  lonesome  silence  seemed  to  have  filled 
the  halls  and  chambers  when  she  turned 
from  an  upper  window,  whence,  through 
a  rift  in  the  foliage,  she  had  seen  him  walk 
away,  tall  and  straight,  along  the  tree- 
shaded  pavement.  He  disappeared  after 
a  pace  or  two,  leaving  in  her  brain  an  im- 
pression not  easily  cast  out. 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  the  morning 
mail  was  handed  in,  there  were  two  let- 
100 


ters  from  Rayle  and  his  photograph,  the 
latter  a  tiny,  unmounted  portrait  striking- 
ly lifelike  and  handsome.  Rosalynde 
turned  to  these  with  frank  delight;  but 
somehow  Paris  seemed  infinitely  distant, 
as  if  borne  suddenly  away  to  the  dimmest 
of  horizons,  and  the  half-smiling  face  of 
her  lover  gave  forth  no  influence  save 
that  of  remoteness  and  complete  separa- 
tion. The  clear,  dark  eyes  looked  at  her 
without  interest  or  speculation ;  their  gaze 
was  a  steadfast,  luminous  indifference. 

She  read  the  letters,  however,  to  better 
effect,  for  Rayle's  style  of  writing  con- 
veyed an  immediate  impression  of  reality, 
and  she  quickly  warmed  to  his  enthusi- 
astic descriptions  of  his  new  experiences 
and  surroundings:  He  had  not  yet  be- 
gun his  studies,  but  was  going  up  and 
down  Paris,  feasting  his  provincial  eyes 

101 


upon  the  fascinating  urban  wonders  open- 
ing at  every  turn. 

One  thing  in  the  letter  of  latest  date 
struck  Rosalynde  with  the  force  of  a  reve- 
lation. It  referred  to  the  money  which 
had  been  so  mysteriously  sent  to  Rayle. 

"I  have  been  thinking  it  over,"  he 
wrote,  "and  I  now  feel  tolerably  certain 
that  our  friend  Breyten  is  the  person  who 
furnished  the  money.  I  do  not  know  that 
he  is  rich,  but  he  must  be,  and  I  remember 
things  that  he  said  to  me,  things  not  par- 
ticularly significant  at  the  time,  yet  almost 
conclusive  to  my  mind  when  I  consider 
them  in  perspective  and  with  the  light  of 
all  the  circumstances  to  help  me.  Of 
course,  I  may  be  quite  off  in  my  conclu- 
sion, so  it  will  be  best  not  to  speak  of  it. 
Whoever  it  was  who  sent  the  money,  the 
amount  is  but  a  loan ;  I  am  going  to  pay  it 
back  with  interest.  What  a  chance  it  has 
1 02 


given  me!  I  feel  the  inspiration  of  it  in 
every  drop  of  my  blood." 

The  suggestion  of  the  paragraph  cor- 
responded in  some  way  with  Rosalynde's 
mood,  and  it  added  greatly  to  her  ro- 
mantic impression  of  Breyten's  personal- 
ity. She  immediately  suspected  that  her 
grandfather's  money  had  come  from  the 
same  source  that  had  supplied  Rayle.  It 
was  like  a  fairy  story;  it  burst  upon  her 
imagination  with  strange  splendor;  and 
at  the  same  time  it  seemed  to  confirm  and 
perfect  certain  hitherto  inchoate  sus- 
picions which  she  had  been  unable  to 
grasp  fully  or  fairly  examine. 

Rayle  had  talked  to  her  so  much  about 
the  power  of  money,  had  pictured  to  her 
the  almost  omnipotent  influence  of  riches 
with  such  reckless  eloquence,  that  the  bare 
possibility  of  Breyten's  turning  out  to  be 
a  millionaire  in  the  disguise  of  a  careless 
103 


tourist  awheel  had  a  dazzling  yet  some- 
what depressing  effect  upon  her  mind. 
She  sat  by  a  window  and  looked  forth, 
without  seeing  the  trees  in  the  old  garden 
or  the  robins  on  the  grass.  Curiously 
enough,  her  lover  had  passed  out  of  her 
mind ;  his  letters  and  photograph  lay  un- 
noticed in  her  lap. 


104 


General  Banderet  was  beaten. 

At  the  last  moment  his  young  com- 
petitor for  the  nomination  shook  a  po- 
litical trump  card  out  of  his  sleeve  with  ir- 
resistible effect ;  the  Banderet  forces  were 
surprised  to  such  a  degree  that,  within  the 
time  at  command,  they  could  not  rear- 
range themselves  to  meet  the  new  issue, 
and  all  was  lost. 

Breyten  was  not  surprised  when  the  ru- 
mor of  General  Banderet' s  defeat  reached 
him ;  he  had  expected  it ;  yet  he  could  not 
guard  against  a  stroke  of  unreasonable 


disappointment,  and  it  irritated  him  to 
hear  the  hotel  loungers  making  their 
brutal  comments.  Somehow  Rosalynde 
seemed  to  him  so  closely  connected  with 
her  grandfather's  fate  that  it  was  as  if 
her  name  and  fame  were  being  bandied 
by  the  political  rabble. 

What  would  be  the  effect  upon  her? 
His  first  impulse  was  to  go  forthwith  to 
her  with  a  goodlyburden  of  cheer  to  lavish 
upon  her.  Certainly  a  bright  and  light- 
hearted  girl  of  her  character  would  not 
take  a  matter  of  this  sort  too  seriously; 
and  would  it  not  be  a  proper  thing  for 
him  to  help  her  turn  the  optimistic  side 
of  the  incident  firmly  outward  ? 

Then  suddenly  his  heart  sank  as  he 
thought  of  Rayle  standing  in  his  way 
and  forbidding  every  gentle  and  tender 
act.  The  girl's  accepted  lover  had  the 
exclusive  right  to  what  he,  Breyten,  was 
1 06 


turning  over  in  his  mind  as  a  ravishing 
anticipation. 

He  sat  there  scarcely  aware  of  the  gab- 
bling crowd  of  excited  and  beery  politi- 
cians ;  their  comments  no  longer  irritated 
him;  he  was  wrestling  with  himself. 
Was  not  complete  and  unconditional 
abandonment  of  the  field  the  im- 
perious demand  of  duty?  Duty!  that  is 
a  cup  of  wormwood  offered  instead 
of  the  wine  for  which  our  whole  being 
thirsts.  He  made  a  wry  face  at  the 
thought.  And  then  there  was  a  fresh  stir, 
with  broken  ejaculations  and  a  quick 
grouping  of  the  men  around  the  desk, 
where  messages  were  being  received. 

"Dead!  General  Banderet?  How's 
that?" 

"Dropped  dead  on  the  platform  in  the 
convention  hall." 

"The  devil  you  say !" 

107 


Bremen  was  listening  with  suspended 
breath. 

"How'd  it  happen?" 

"Read  that  despatch." 

Men  tiptoed  to  look  over  one  another's 
shoulders,  while  some  person  in  the  center 
of  the  compact  group  read  aloud : 

"INDIANAPOLIS,  3:12  p.  M.  General 
Lucien  Bander et  fell  in  an  apoplectic  fit 
while  attempting  to  move  the  unanimous 
endorsement  of  the  nominee.  He  died 
before  medical  aid  could  avail.  Great 
confusion  and  excitement." 

"Pore  old  man,  he  was  hit  hard,"  said 
a  benevolent-looking  fellow  who  wore  the 
opposition  badge.  "He  ortn't  to  a-run ;  he 
was  too  old." 

Breyten  let  fall  his  paper  and  sprang  to 

his  feet.    In  the  intensity  of  his  feeling  it 

was  as  if  he  saw  the  blow  of  the  terrible 

news  fall  upon  Rosalynde.    He  could  not 

108 


think ;  the  whole  tragedy,  grim  and  dark, 
was  refractory  when  he  tried  to  consider 
it.  One  thing,  however,  was  clear  to  him ; 
it  would  be  unbearable  to  see  Rosalynde 
and  not  be  able  to  try  to  comfort  her;  and 
besides,  what  right  had  he  to  go  to  her 
in  her  affliction?  He  walked  to  and  fro 
with  his  hands  clasped  behind  him.  What 
was  he  to  do?  He  could  not  retreat,  he 
could  not  go  forward. 

In  spite  of  himself,  a  sense  of  guilt  hov- 
ered close  to  every  thought,  and  from  this, 
had  he  been  older,  he  might  have  foretold 
the  outcome  of  his  moral  ferment.  But  he 
was  young,  and  youth  is  as  obtuse  and  un- 
certain as  it  is  agile  and  flexible. 

Over  and  over  he  said :  "It  is  a  question 
of  privilege."  And  then  he  leaped  up, 
shaking  his  head  like  a  young  lion.  "Love 
is  free.  He  wins  who  can !"  he  cried.  His 
own  voice  made  him  recoiL 
109 


After  the  funeral  of  Rosalynde's 
grandfather  it  was  announced  in  the 
newspapers  that  Dr.  Roger  Banderet. 
with  his  wife  and  daughter,  had  ar- 
rived from  New  Orleans  and  would 
spend  some  time  at  the  home  of  his  broth- 
er, the  late  General  Lucien  Banderet.  The 
public  was  further  informed  that,  by  the 
General's  will,  Miss  Rosalynde  was  made 
the  sole  successor  to  her  grandfather's  es- 
tate, and  that  as  soon  as  the  proper  for- 
malities of  a  legal  settlement  were  over 
no 


she  would  go  with  her  relatives  to  live  in 
New  Orleans. 

Breyten  read  this,  and  felt  a  sudden 
fear  that  should  he  delay  longer  Rosa- 
lynde  might  be  gone  away  before  he  could 
see  her,  even  to  say  good-by.  But  could 
he  trust  himself  to  say  good-by?  Could 
he  say  it  ? 

The  next  day  he  was  called  to  Indian- 
apolis upon  business  which  to  most  men 
would  have  proved  very  exciting.  His 
lawyer  had  hastened  from  New  York  with 
papers  for  him  to  sign  in  connection  with 
an  estate  suddenly  falling  to  him  from  an 
eccentric  bachelor  uncle  just  dead. 

Matters  dragged ;  the  careful  and  plod- 
ding lawyer  insisted  upon  patience  and 
orderly  attention  to  every  detail  as  it  came 
up  for  consideration;  and  so  September 
was  hanging  a  new  moon  in  her  dusky 
evening's  sky  when  Breyten  -once  more 

8  III 


reached  Hawford.  By  this  time  he  had 
settled  the  question  as  to  what  he  would 
do,  and  he  meant  to  do  it.  Rosalynde  and 
Alfred  Rayle  were  lovers  and  engaged  to 
be  married.  To  interfere,  or  try  to  inter- 
fere, would  be  wrong,.  His  duty  was 
clear.  He  would  be  a  man,  in  short,  and 
face  the  inevitable  with  a  firm  counte- 
nance. All  he  had  to  do  was  very  simple ; 
he  would  call  upon  Miss  Banderet, — he 
sternly  thought  of  her  now  as  Miss  Ban- 
deret,— say  good-by,  and  be  off  about  his 
pleasure.  He  was  in  such  haste  to  carry 
out  this  simple  plan  of  action  that  when 
he  reached  the  hotel  he  could  scarcely  be 
reasonable  and  wait  until  eight  o'clock, 
which  somehow  he  had  learned  was  the 
hour  for  evening  calls  in  Hawford. 

A  pile  of  letters,  accumulated  during 
his  long  absence  from  the  hotel,  lay  on  his 
table,  but  he  did  not  open  them,  or  even 
look  them  over.  .They  could  wait  a  few 

112 


hours  longer;  in  the  morning  would  be 
time  enough. 

The  streets  were  empty  when  he  went 
out;  everybody  had  gone  to  the  opera 
house  to  listen  to  a  speech  by  the  candi- 
date for  governor.  In  passing  an  alley 
Breyten  looked  up  the  forlorn  stairway 
leading  to  Rayle's  studio.  The  electric 
light  from  the  saloon  opposite  shone  upon 
the  grimy  ladder.  It  was  not  a  pleasant 
moment  in  which  to  recall  Rayle's  posi- 
tion as  master  of  fate,  and  unconsciously 
Breyten  hastened  his  steps.  When  he 
reached  the  Banderet  homestead  there  was 
no  gleam  in  the  windows.  He  stood  on 
the  threshold  in  the  dark  for  a  while,  hear- 
ing only  a  screech-owl  and  a  gentle  sough- 
ing in  the  trees. 

He  listened,  and  a  queer  sense  of  isola- 
tion and  defeat  came  upon  him;  then  he 

"3 


banged  the  heavy  knocker  until  growling 
echoes  and  clanking  responses  seemed  to 
return  from  every  room  within.  The 
house  was  untenanted,  as  the  very  atmos- 
phere declared,  and  Breyten  felt  as  empty 
as  if  life  itself  had  gone  from  him  on  a 
visit.  He  crammed  his  hands  deep  into 
his  pockets  and  stood  scowling  at  the  sur- 
rounding gloom.  There  was  nothing  to 
do  but  go  back  to  the  hotel  and  wait  un- 
til he  could  find  out  whither  the  Banderets 
had  flown:  Then  he  reflected  that  it  cer- 
tainly was  none  of  his  business  to  be  hunt- 
ing on  the  track  of  people  who  cared  noth- 
ing for  him.  So  he  strode  straightway  to 
his  rooms  with  his  head  high,  doughtily 
smiling  to  think  how  strong  he  was. 

Among  the  letters  on  his  table  lay  one 

from  Rayle.     He  knew  it  as  soon  as  he 

spied  it,  although  he  never  before  had 

seen  the  man's  chirography.    It  may  have 

114 


been  the  Paris  postmark  that  conveyed 
the  impression,  or  it  may  have  been  in- 
tuitive grasp  of  probabilities ;  at  all  events, 
he  tore  open  the  envelope  and  unfolded 
the  letter  with  no  kindly  feeling  for  the 
writer,  not  anticipating  anything  worth 
reading,  and  yet  greedily  scanning  the 
lines.  Somehow  the  man's  name  was  a 
burden  to  Breyten  now,  the  memory  of 
him  a  shadow  in  his  mind.  As  for  the 
letter,  it  surprised  him.  He  read  it  twice : 

"DEAR  MR.  BREYTEN  :  When  you  re- 
ceive this  letter  I  shall  be  in  the  hands  of 
a  surgeon  specialist  who  is  to  make  my  leg 
straight.  He's  a  great  doctor;  maybe 
you've  heard  of  him,  Dr.  Jules  de  Mont- 
ravin.  He  says  that  I  am  to  be  a  perfect 
physical  man  in  a  few  weeks.  He  guar- 
antees it.  You  know  what  this  means  to 
me, and  to  Rosalynde.  It  means  more  than 
art  or  fame  or  fortune.  I  am  not  letting 


Rosalynde  know  that  I  am  doing  this. 
She  would  worry  and  imagine  dire  re- 
sults; and,  besides,  I  want  to  come  home 
and  surprise  her. 

"Now  I've  got  to  tell  you  more,  which 
you  will  keep  sacredly  secret.  I  have 
abandoned  art.  I  can't  see  how  I 
ever  began  with  it.  The  masters  here 
shozucd  me  quickly  that  I've  not  the  least 
call  to  painting,  not  even  sign  painting. 
This  has  made  me  willing  to  undergo  the 
terrible  ordeal  of  the  hospital.  If  I  come 
out  all  right  I'll  go  at  the  law  or  medicine 
or  ministry  or  real  estate  or  anything.  If 
I  die,  it's  all  over. 

"To  be  blunt  and  honest  with  you,  1 
must  tell  you  that  I  think  you  are  the  one 
who  gave  me  my  chance  in  life.  If  I 
am  wrong,  you'll  not  care;  if  I  am  right, 
words  are  no  evidence  of  the  obligation 
and  thankfulness  I  feeL  Rosalynde  writes 
116 


me  often  about  you;  she  thinks  you  a  won- 
derful man,  and  so  do  L  If  I  come  out  of 
this  with  perfect  limbs  I'll  be  a  wonderful 
man  too. 

"I  felt  bound  to  tell  you  all  this,  which 
may  not  interest  you  in  the  least.  The 
thought  that  probably  you  furnished  the 
money  to  pay  my  way  seemed  to  make 
it  right  for  me  to  let  you  know  what  I  am 
doing.  At  all  events,  you  have  my  secret 
now,  and  I  implicitly  trust  you  to  keep  it. 

"I  was  about  to  forget  one  thing,  per- 
haps the  most  important,  certainly  the 
most  disagreeable,  of  all.  I  am  rvriting 
a  lot  of  letters  to  Rosalynde,  to  be  dated 
properly  hereafter  and  sent  to  her  during 
the  time  that  I  shall  be  under  torture  and 
unable  to  write  or  dictate  or  do  anything 
but  groan  or  lie  in  the  stupor  of  drugs. 
These  letters  will  tell  \er  how  well  I  am 
doing  in  my  studies,  and  all  that,  to  keep 
117 


happy.  rAs  soon  as  Fm  over  it  I  shall 
write  the  whole  truth  to  her.  God  bless 
her  and  you.  Yours  sincerely, 

"ALFRED  RAYLE." 

The  letter  was  posted  on  the  day  of 
General  Banderet's  death.  Doubtless 
Rayle  had  entered  hospital  before  the 
tragic  news  reached  him,  or  more  prob- 
ably it  had  not  reached  him  at  all,  as  his 
doctor  would  almost  certainly  forbid 
anything  exciting  while  an  operation  so 
delicate  and  dangerous  was  going  on. 

To  Breyten  the  time  had  seemed  so 
long  that  now,  as  he  looked  back  to 
Rayle's  last  interview  with  him,  he  found 
himself  wondering  if  it  might  not  be  that 
Rayle  was  dead.  Surely  some  word  would 
have  come  from  him  had  the  surgery  been 
successful.  But  then  while  in  hospital 
he  could  not  writ"  •  he  had  said  so  in  his 
letter,  and,  besides,  it  would  be  to  Rosa- 
118 


ve  r  s 


lynde  that  the  first  news  would  go. 

There  was  another  letter,  however,  lying 
on  the  table  that  very  moment,  which 
presently  Breyten  read.  It  was  from  the 
great  Parisian  specialist  It  ran  in  sub- 
stance thus  : 

"Your  friend,  Mr.  Alfred  Rayle,  who 
is  under  treatment  with  me,  begs  me  to 
say  to  you  that  he  is  doing  very  well  and 
will  be  perfectly  cured  at  the  end  of  two 
months  from  this  time.  He  particularly 
wishes  you  to  tell  no  one  anything  about 
his  condition." 

Other  surprises  awaited  him  in  the  yet 
unopened  missives  on  the  table.  A  small 
photograph,  taken  from  a  portrait  of  his 
mother  painted  by  a  celebrated  artist,  fell 
out  of  an  envelope  along  with  a  sheet  of 
dainty  note-paper,  on  which  he  read  : 

"Somehow  I  must  have  sent  the  wrong 
picture  in  my  other  note.  Won't  you 
119 


please  return  it  to  me  at  Old  Point  Com- 
fort? ROSALYNDE  BANDERET." 

After  a  few  moments  given  freely  to 
dizzy  gazing  at  the  signature,  as  if  it  had 
been  Rosalynde  herself,  he  nervously  fin- 
gered the  remaining  envelopes  for  "my 
other  note"  until  he  found  it.  His  heart 
quivered,  or  seemed  to,  and  a  tender  sense 
of  weakness  crept  through  him  when  he 
drew  forth  another  little  photograph. 
Then  his  eyes  dilated  dreamily ;  for  there 
she  was,  Rosalynde,  just  as  he  saw  her 
under  the  bridge.  He  almost  forgot  to 
read  the  accompanying  note,  so  long  was 
he  absorbed  in  gazing  and  remembering. 

"We  are  leaving  for  Old  Point  Com- 
fort.  I  saw  in  the  newspapers  that  you 
were  to  be  absent  some  time,  so  I  inclose 
this  photograph,  which  you  told  me  was 
of  your  mother.  You  left  it  in  a  book, 
and  I  accidentally  found  it." 
1 20 


The  date  opposite  Miss  Banderet's  sig- 
nature was  more  than  three  weeks  in  the 
past,  and  he  saw  that  the  other  note  had 
been  posted  at  Washington  City.  But  the 
photograph,  although  a  trifle  worn,  as  if 
by  much  carrying  about  and  indifferent 
handling,  was  sufficiently  vivid  to  hold 
Breyten's  eyes  away  from  everything  else. 
He  looked  at  it  and  dreamed  over  it  until 
far  in  the  night.  The  round,  frank  eyes, 
the  sweet,  immature  mouth,  the  softly 
oval  cheeks,  the  lissome  form,  were  those 
of  a  girl  in  her  mid-teens,  a  girl  just 
blooming  into  what  Rosalynde  was  on  the 
day  of  their  meeting  at  the  bridge. 

The  last  thought  before  he  went  to 
sleep  was  that  he  would  have  a  copy  of 
the  photograph  before  he  sent  it  back. 
Nor  did  conscience  seem  to  take  cogni^ 
zance  of  his  purpose,  for  early  next  morn- 
ing he  went  straightway  and  accomplished 

121, 


it  without  a  qualm;  and  for  fear  some- 
thing might  go  wrong  with  the  negative, 
he  kept  the  original  until  he  had  his  fin- 
ished copy,  a  remarkably  good  one,  in 
hand. 

By  this  time  he  was  ready  to  write  what 
he  regarded  as  a  well-considered  and  thor- 
oughly disinterested  letter  to  Miss  Ban- 
deret.  He  was  so  fastidious  about  the 
composition,  indeed,  that  he  was  more 
than  a  week  doing  it;  but  when  at  last  it 
seemed  just  what  it  ought  to  be,  he  mailed 
it  with  the  tiny  picture  carefully  inclosed ; 
nor  did  he  find  out,  until  too  late,  that, 
by  some  unaccountable  slip,  he  had  sent 
the  copy  instead  of  the  original.  Some- 
how the  discovery  touched  him  accurately 
upon  the  spring  that  loosed  the  jocund 


122 


spirit  so  natural  to  him,  and  he  laughed  in 
his  old  boyish,  hearty  way,  holding  the 
picture  before  him  and  gazing  at  it  as  if  it 
had  said  or  done  something  extremely 
mirth-provoking,  albeit  the  sweet,  open 
look  of  the  girl's  eyes  was  bewitchingly 
serious. 

"It  is  preposterous!"  he  presently 
thought.  "It's  outrageous!  And  what 
will  she  say?  God  bless  her !" 

He  kissed  the  picture  at  least  twenty 
times  before  a  wave  of  soberness  checked 
him,  and  then  he  thought  of  Rayle. 


123 


Now  this  is  what  Breyten  wrote: 

"DEAR  Miss  BANDERET  :  Both  of  your 
notes  were  on  my  table  when  I  returned 
nearly  a  month  after  they  were  written. 
I  read  the  second  one  first;  then  I  was  in 
a  great  hurry  to  open  the  other  and  when 
I  did  open  it  the  inclosure  surprised  and 
delighted  me.  The  photograph  shows 
you  exactly  as  you  looked  that  day  under 
the  bridge.  I  see  you  before  me  while  I 
zvrite,  your  eyes  gazing  past  me  with  a 
vast,  sweet,  ravishing  indifference.  Pre- 
cisely so  does  this  little  photograph  which 
124 


/  so  grudgingly  will  return  to  you  in  this 
letter. 

"I  am  of  half  a  mind  to  keep  this  for- 
lorn little  picture  of  you.  Somehow  I 
feel  that  possession  of  its  original  in  my 
deepest  memory  has  proved  my  right  to 
hold  fast  the  shadow.  As  I  probably  shall 
never  see  you  again,  as  I  probably  ought 
never  to  see  you  again,  and  knowing  that 
you  are  not  to  be  troubled  with  what  I 
may  tell  you  about  myself,  I  am  going  to 
say  the  whole  truth.  The  moment  that  I 
saw  you  at  the  bridge  out  yonder  you 
took  a  deep  hold  of  my  heart.  I  feel  that 
I  have  loved  you  passionately  every  mo- 
ment since  we  met.  But  since  I  found  out 
your  engagement  to  Mr.  Rayle  I  have 
been  trying  to  reconcile  myself  to  the  in- 
evitable. I  can  not  do  it;  I  can  only 
stand  upon  my  honor;  I  can  only  say  to 
myself  that  you  are  beyond  my  reach — 
125 


that  I  must  not  try  to  reach  you.  You 
love  Rayle;  he  is  a  splendid  fellow;  he 
loves  you;  you  two  are  engaged  to  be 
married;  that  is  all.  I  am  outside  and 
must  stay  there.  I  see  in  the  eyes  of  this 
picture  that  from  the  first  you  were  sealed 
against  me;  you  were  reserved  for  Rayle. 
It  is  hard  on  me;  but  then  ivhat  a  stroke  of 
high,  sweet  fortune  for  Rayle!  I  go 
down,  he  goes  up.  What  a  weight  it  is 
that  bears  me  doivn,  and  what  a  lift  of  joy 
is  his!  I  ought  not  to  wish  or  even  dream 
of  shifting  my  burden  to  him. 

"In  writing  all  this  to  you  I  feel  doubt- 
ful and  uneasy  about  my  right  to  do  it — 
not  my  right  to  love  you,  for  somehow 
that  seems  unquestionable  and  a  thing  to 
die  by.  TJie  trouble  is  Rayle.  The  man 
rushed  into  my  sympathy  and  regard  at 
our  first  meeting.  He  seemed  so  earnest, 
so  sincere,  and  so  brave  under  great  dis- 
126 


advantage,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  you 
must  have  given  him  his  courage. 

"When  I  returned  and  found  that  you 
were  gone,  my  first  impulse  was  to  follow 
you,  to  keep  you  in  sight,  to  linger  near 
you.  But  what  right  have  I,  I  thought, 
to  go  where  she  is?  So  I  am  not  going  to 
follow  you;  I  am  going  as  far  from  you 
as  I  can,  not  to  try  to  forget  you, — I  can 
never  do  that, — but  to  be  sure  that  you 
shall  not  suffer  on  my  account. 

"How  shall  I  end  this  letter?  Some- 
thing drags  at  me  and  tells  me  that 
I  ought  to  tear  it  up  and  end  it  so.  A 
weight  of  doubt — about  my  right  to  tell 
you  how  I  feel — hinders  thought  and  con- 
fuses my  language,  so  that  I  do  not  say 
just  what  I  wish  to.  Yet  I  am  somehow 
quite  sure  that  your  dear  heart  will  tell 
you  what  I  can  not. 

"I  inclose  your  picture.     I  want  to 
9  127 


it,  and  I  do  not  want  to  keep  it.  It  is  you, 
and  it  is  not  you.  It  gladdens  me,  and  it 
overwhelms  me  with  despair.  I  do  not 
know  what  I  am  going  to  do.  No  need  to 
stay  here;  for  I  hear  that  you  are  not  com- 
ing back  any  more,  and  I  do  not  expect 
you  to  answer  this  letter.  You  can  not 
answer  it.  What  could  you  sayf  You 
are  happy  and  deserve  to  be  happy  always, 
and  it  can  not  matter  with  you  if  I  never 
again  find  the  old  careless,  merry  life  so 
suddenly  snatched  from  me.  But  one 
thing  I  know :  you  will  never  forget 

"FREDERICK  BREYTEN/' 

After  this  absurd  letter — it  seemed  to 
Breyten  to  grow  in  absurdity  as  days 
went  by — had  floated  down  the  stream  of 
the  mail  going  eastward,  and  after  a 
whole  week  of  unaccountable  listlessness, 
Breyten  began  to  expect  an  answer.  But 
how  could  there  be  an  answer?  He  had 
128 


had  nothing  to  write,  and  he  had  written 
worse  than  nothing.  Rosalynde  would 
be  a  strange  girl  were  she  to  take  any  no- 
tice of  such  an  epistle.  Still,  there  he  was 
for  more  than  a  fortnight,  lingering  at 
Hawford,  and  growing  excited  whenever 
the  postman  arrived  at  the  little  hotel. 

If  he  had  known  that  his  letter  to  Miss 
Banderet  was  following  her  from  Old 
Point  Comfort  to  Asheville,  thence  to 
Aiken,  and  on  to  Savannah,  to  Atlanta, 
to  Lookout  Mountain,  and  then  to  Bir- 
mingham, Mobile,  and  finally  New  Or- 
leans— if  he  had  known  of  that  long,  slow 
chase,  he  might  still  have  waited.  But 
how  could  he  know?  Time  bore  upon 
him  like  an  atmosphere  strangely  stale. 
He  walked  out  to  the  Banderet  place  and 
took  a  doleful  last  look  at  it,  then  went 
straight  to  New  York,  where  two  weeks 
later  he  met  Rayle,  who  had  just  arrived 
129 


from  Paris;  and  what  a  splendid  figure 
he  was ! — straight  as  an  arrow,  admirably 
proportioned,  and  of  noble  presence;  a 
dark,  magnetic,  powerful-looking  man. 
The  distinguished  surgeon  had  done  his 
work  to  perfection. 

They  met  in  one  of  the  great  hotels, 
coming  face  to  face  so  suddenly  that  both 
stopped  short,  and,  half  recoiling,  stood 
for  a  moment  gazing.  Breyten  turned 
slightly  pale,  but  Rayle  flushed  and  looked 
glad,  extending  his  hand  presently  with 
a  hearty  exclamation  of  greeting.  Two 
handsomer  men, — opposite  and  perfect 
types  of  masculine  beauty, — never  shook 
hands  in  the  great  city. 


130 


At  a  considerable  distance  from  Canal 
Street,  on  St.  Charles,  in  New  Orleans, 
the  Banderet  residence,  a  stately  mansion 
withdrawn  amid  its  tropical  trees  behind 
a  massive  brick  wall,  attracts  the  eye  of 
every  passer  who  has  a  taste  for  the  pic- 
turesque. The  heavey  iron  gate  has  a 
mighty  lock,  and  through  the  bars  there 
shimmers,  as  if  drowsily,  the  greenery  of 
a  remarkable  garden,  across  which  a 
straight,  broad,  white  walk  leads  to  a 
flight  of  stone  steps,  rising  to  a  heavy 
veranda,  where  vines  flourish. 


We  must  enter  this  guarded  close  if  we 
wish  to  see  once  more  Rosalynde  Ban- 
deret;  for  this  is  the  home  of  Dr.  Roger 
Banderet,  a  man  of  great  wealth,  who  will 
henceforth  be  Rosalynde' s  protector  and 
adviser. 

It  is  a  hot  day,  even  for  New  Orleans, 
and  the  afternoon  drags  slowly.  A  light 
breeze  pants  in  the  foliage  that  darkens 
the  veranda  and  seems  to  be  dying  there, 
while  in  hammocks  swung  side  by  side 
Rosalynde  and  her  cousin,  as  she  calls 
her  great-uncle's  daughter  Angelie,  are 
drowsing  and  chatting  by  turns,  dressed 
as  becomes  the  weather  and  the  place. 
Angelie  has  just  the  slightest  Creole  lisp 
on  her  tongue,  and  in  figure  and  face 
looks  more  French  than  Rosalynde, 
though  resembling  her  in  a  marked  de- 
gree. She  is  the  child  of  her  father's  old 
age,  her  mother  being  a  young  Creole 
132 


woman  by  whom  came  the  doctor's  great 
wealth,  the  fortune  of  a  second  marriage. 

Angelie  was  busier  with  her  tongue 
than  Rosalynde.  Her  remarks  ranged 
from  beaux  to  mosquitos,  and  were  in- 
terspersed with  snatches  of  song  bewitch- 
ingly  delivered.  The  divine  magic  was 
in  her  voice,  as  the  ravishing  power  of 
beauty  was  in  her  face  and  form. 

"I  told  papa  it  was  too  early  to  come  to 
New  Orleans,"  she  melodiously  grumbled, 
meantime  lying  almost  on  her  back  and 
picking  at  a  Cuban  fan,  "but  he  heard 
something  about  the  cotton  market  that 
made  him  deliriously  anxious  to  see  his 
broker.  Heigho,  men  are  such  delightful 
idiots !  Don't  you  just  love  'em  and  hate 
'em?  Now,  for  example,  there's  Freddie 
Amsley ;  he's  charming  until  you  mention 
the  exchange  or  cotton,  then  off  he  goes, 
crazy  as  can  be." 

133 


Rosalynde  knew  little  enough  about 
how  men  gambled  in  the  cotton  game,  but 
she  had  vivid  memories  of  her  grandfa- 
ther's troubles  with  the  wheat  game  in 
Chicago,  his  winnings  and  his  losings,  his 
ups  and  his  downs, — the  downs  gradually 
but  surely  gaining  on  the  ups,  until  there 
were  no  ups.  She  did  not  respond  to  An- 
gelie's  prattle,  but  let  her  mind  reach  out 
after  the  dear  old  home  at  Hawford. 

"What  is  your  handsome  and  noble 
bicyclist's  name  ?"  Angelie  went  on  in  her 
inconsequent,  skipping  way,  referring  to 
a  previous  conversation  about  Breyten. 
"I  can't  keep  it." 

"Breyten,"  said  Rosalynde  absently. 

"Well,  I  should  think  he  might  at  least 
write  to  you  and  tell  you  something  ro- 
mantic. And  he's  a  poet  too !  I'm  afraid, 
Rose,  my  sweet,  that  you  neglected  to  get 
your  charm  woven  over  him  as  you  ought. 
134 


Tall,  commanding,  you  say  he  is,  and  fair, 
with  golden  hair  and  honest,  earnest,  elo- 
quent eyes.  Ah  me!  Somehow  no  such 
romantic  knights-errant  ever  come  my 
way.  Nobody  but  men  like  Freddie  Ams- 
ley — young  men  who  talk  money  instead 
of  romance — are  fated  to  cross  my  orbit. 
And  this  Mr.  Breyten  is  a  trifle  mysteri- 
ous too,  you  told  me,  I  think.  Couldn't 
you  decoy  him  down  here?  I  dote  upon 
mysteries,  especially  when  they  are  mag- 
nificently tall  and  fair  and  handsome,  and, 
as  you  say  he  is,  good  and  high-minded 
besides.  Where  is  his  home?  He  is  an 
American,  of  course.  Does  he  jump  at 
every  newspaper  he  sees  and  turn  to  the 
market  quotations?  Tell  me  more  about 
him,  Rose.  Since  he  has  my  photograph, 
all  by  your  fault,  you  ought  to  betray  him 
to  me  in  every  possible  way." 

"Indeed,     Angelie,     there's     nothing 

135 


strange  or  mysterious  or  particularly  ro- 
mantic about  Mr.  Breyten,"  said  Rosa- 
lynde.  "He  w  handsome,  strikingly  hand- 
some, with  a  certain  distinguished  air,  and 
he  is  large  in  both  body  and  mind,  al- 
though you  don't  notice  his  height  and 
proportions  until  he  stands  near  you  and 
you  look  up.  Then  he  seems  to  tower 
above  you,  and  he  smiles  down  at  you  as  if 
you  were  such  a  wee  thing  and  very  well 
worth  his  kind  and  tender  attention." 

"Adorable!"  exclaimed  Angelie;  "and, 
of  course,  your  sweet  little  provincial 
heart  was  so  full  of  one  Mr.  Alfred  Rayle, 
away  in  Paris,  that  there  was  no  room  for 
this  young  giant,  who,  as  I  well  know, 
fell  desperately  in  love  with  you.  Now, 
honor  bright,  Rosalynde,  didn't  Mr.  Fred- 
erick Breyten  show  strong  symptoms  of 
passionate  regard  for  you?" 

"He  knew  of  my  engagement  to  Al- 
136 


fred,"  said  Rosalynde,  as  a  maid  came  out 
upon  the  veranda  with  some  letters  on  a 
tray,  "and  he  was,  of  course,  not  going  to 
be  so  foolish  as  to — oh,  for  me  ?  Any  for 
me,  Lorette  ?" 

"Mais  oui,  Mam'sclle,"  the  maid  an- 
swered, with  a  pretty  French  gesture  of 
affirmation. 

And  it  was  thus  that  Breyten's  perse- 
vering epistle  finally  reached  its  goal, 
after  as  crooked  a  course  and  as  many  de- 
lays as  ever  hindered  a  flight.  Rosalynde 
looked  curiously  at  the  much-erased  and 
often-renewed  superscription,  and  the  nu- 
merous postmarks  on  the  envelope.  Two 
letters  from  Rayle  had  to  wait;  There 
was  a  flash  of  carmine  in  her  cheeks,  deep- 
ening as  she  broke  the  seal. 

"Here's  your  picture,  Angie,"  she  said, 
unable  to  hide  a  breathless  eagerness,  and 
holding  the  photograph  out  at  arm's 

137 


length,  without  looking  from  the  letter. 

"Oh,  it  is  from  your  delightful  friend, 
eh?  Fortunate  girl!"  Angelie  took  the 
photograph,  but  did  not  look  at  it.  "But 
you  read  his  letter  before  you  open  the 
two  from  your  accepted  lover!  Ah,  my 
dearest,  there's  romance  in  all  this.  And 
what  a  letter!  A  whole  volume, — and 
how  excited  you  look !  It  must  be  ravish- 
ing." 

Rosalynde  flung  herself  out  of  the  ham- 
mock, and,  speaking  not  a  word,  went  to 
her  room. 

"And  now  really  what?"  said  Angelie, 
sitting  up  and  gazing  inquiringly  after 
her  cousin.  But  she  was  left  alone  and 
without  explanation.  "The  child  loves 
him,  adores  him,  that's  evident."  Then 
she  looked  at  the  photograph  in  her  hand. 
On  the  card  was  printed:  "Morri- 
sons, Photographers,  Hawford,  Indiana." 
138 


Quick  as  a  flash  she  understood,  and  was 
laughing  almost  hysterically  when  Mr. 
Freddie  Amsley  was  announced. 

"Say  that  I'm  not  in,  Lorette, — but 
yes,"  she  slipped  lazily  from  the  ham- 
mock to  a  willow  chair,  "tell  him  to  come 
out  here.  No  I'll  not — " 

She  was  stopped  by  the  appearance  of 
Mr.  Freddie  Amsley  himself,  laughing 
and  apologizing. 

"I  know  that  you  are  not  in,"  he  said, 
"but,  hearing  you  so  hilariously  engaged 
out  here,  I  stepped  around.  Now  don't 
scold  me;  be  gentle,  for  I'm  not  happy." 

He  was  a  slender,  alert-looking  young 
man  with  blue  eyes,  a  high,  hawk-nose, 
blond  side-whiskers,  and  short-cropped 
pale  hair,  which  was  parted  in  the  middle. 
He  looked  at  Angelie  with  a  shrewd,  spec- 
ulative gaze. 

139 


"I  cannot  confine  my  scolding  to  you," 
said  Angelie,  looking  at  the  photograph; 
"I  must  include  all  men.  Think  of  it !  one 
who  had  my  picture  has  been  impudent 
enough  to  return  it." 

"Give  me  his  name  and  I'll  call  him 
out,"  said  Amsley.  "He  ought,  by  all  the 
rules  of  compassion,  to  have  sent  it  to  me. 
Who  is  he?" 

"Not  for  the  world  would  I  tell  you; 
I  cannot  let  you  be  killed  yet  a  while. 
Who  would  take  your  place  as — " 

"As  hopeless  adorer,"  he  interrupted  a 
trifle  bitterly,  despite  his  ready  laugh, 
"and  faithful  friend."  Then  with  sud- 
den passion  he  added :  "You  can't  doubt 
my  love,  Angelie,  and  you  can't  despise  it. 
It  is  too  faithful,  too  true." 

Angelie  held  up  the  photograph,  re- 
garding it  reflectively. 

"It  was  a  curious  little  mistake  and  a 
140 


ludicrous  counter-mistake,"  she  inconse- 
quently  remarked.  "My  photograph  went 
to  him  by  accident,  and  by  accident,  evi- 
dently, he  has  returned  a  copy  of  it." 

Amsley  bit  his  lip ;  but  he  had  the  gam- 
bler's nerve,  and  when  Angelie  looked  at 
him  his  face  was  not  in  the  least  a  mirror 
of  his  inward  feelings.  She  had  held  him 
off  so  long  that,  hard  as  it  was  to  bear, 
he  was  becoming  used  to  it.  She  was  not 
a  coquette,  but  she  liked  Amsley  without 
loving  him.  He  had  been  good  to  her, 
and  she  did  not  credit  his  passion;  she 
thought  she  could  see  to  the  bottom  of  it. 
At  the  end  of  a  meaningless  and,  to  him, 
exasperating  conversation,  she  sent  him 
away,  as  usual,  bewildered  and  dissatis- 
fied, but  not  hopeless.  He  had  a  sense  of 
humor,  and  he  laughed  and  swore  by 
turns  as  he  walked  down  the  street  He 
was  thinking  what  a  fool  he  was — a  very; 
141 


superior  fool,  to  be  sure ;  and  it  occurred 
to  hint  that  he  must  either  let  go  all  hope 
of  Angelie  or  hit  upon  some  plan  of  bring- 
ing her  speedily  to  terms.  Then  he 
laughed  at  the  thought,  for  Angelie  Ban- 
deret  never  accepted  terms,  she  dictated 
them. 


142 


Breyten  and  Rayle  dined  together  in 
New  York  without  comforting  each  other 
to  any  great  depth,  and  separated  upon 
perfunctory  conditions,  not  expecting  or 
especially  desiring  to  meet  again.  Rayle 
made  a  feeble  effort  to  force  Breyten  into 
discussing  the  subject  of  the  money  he  had 
so  mysteriously  received,  a  large  part  of 
which  he  had  brought  back  with  him  from 
Paris ;  but  Breyten  so  cleverly  baffled  him 
that  he  almost  concluded  to  abandon  his 
suspicion  in  that  regard.  Moreover,  hav- 
ing discovered  by  chance  that  Breyten's 
*>  143 


wealth  was  practically  limitless,  he  nat- 
urally began  to  relax  his  anxiety  in  the 
matter,  and  was  willing  enough  to  let  the 
discussion  pass. 

Rayle  had  many  inquiries  to  make 
about  Rosalynde,  all  of  which  Breyten 
answered  unsatisfactorily,  but  yet  fully 
enough  in  a  way.  He  seemed  not  inter- 
ested, Rayle  thought,  and  could  not  read- 
ily understand  just  what  was  expected  of 
him  in  response  to  a  direct  question.  It 
seemed  plain  that  he  had  not  been  par- 
ticularly impressed  by  Miss  Banderet's 
charms,  and  this  gratified  Rayle  while  it 
piqued  him.- 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  both  men  felt  the 
need  of  solitude,  or  at  least  of  escape  from 
each  other.  Rayle  had  managed  to  find 
out  that  Rosalynde  was  absent  from  Haw- 
ford  when  Breyten  left  there,  and  that  she 

144 


was  at  Old  Point  Comfort  the  last  he 
heard  of  her. 

"She  may  have  returned  to  Hawford 
by  this  time;  probably  has,"  said  Brey- 
ten. 

This  was  bordering  upon  indirect  pre- 
varication, albeit  he  really  did  not  mean 
it  so. 

"She  wouldn't  stay  away  long,  I  should 
think,"  Rayle  assented  reflectively.  "Any- 
way, I  think  I  shall  go  to  Hawford  first, 
and  if  she's  not  there  I'll  go  where  she  is." 

He  had  been  saying  something  about 
his  great  desire  to  surprise  Rosalynde 
with  the  remarkable  change  in  his  phy- 
sique. The  surgeon,  he  remarked,  had 
found  his  deformity  a  mere  trifle,  not  in 
the  least  difficult  to  remove. 

Breyten  was  mightily  relieved  when  the 
moment  for  separation  came  and  Rayle 
announced  that  he  had  barely  time  to 
145 


reach  his  train.  They  shook  hands,  said 
some  insincere  things  meant  to  be  cor- 
dially friendly,  shook  hands  again,  and 
then  turned  their  backs  upon  each  other, 
Rayle's  brain  luminous  with  anticipa- 
tions, Breyten's  heart  wedged  in  his 
throat. 

Breyten  sat  in  his  room  at  the  Wal- 
dorf, a  man  quite  out  of  employment  and 
unable  to  determine  what  his  next  step 
was  to  be.  Millions  of  dollars  at  his  com- 
mand, the  whole  world  before  him,  op- 
portunities unlimited,  youth,  health,  man- 
ly beauty,  everything  his  save  the  one 
thing  he  desired,  and  that  one  thing  more 
to  him  than  everything  else  in  the  uni- 
verse. He  jumped  to  his  feet  and  shook 
his  fist  at  the  wall  in  sheer  rage  when  he 
thought  how  wonderfully  handsome 
Rayle  was. 

146 


"And  to  think  I  made  him  over,  remod- 
eled him,  completed  him,  all  for  this !" 

Of  course,  such  a  storm  soon  blew  over 
and  left  him  somewhat  relaxed  and 
ashamed  It  was  not  in  his  nature  to  be 
sour  or  to  harbor  the  devil  long ;  but  now 
he  found  himself,  even  when  the  calm  had 
fallen  upon  him,  trying  to  make  room  for 
certain  questionable  considerations.  Far 
down  in  some  dim  corner  of  his  soul  cow- 
ered the  shadowy,  albeit  quite  distinguish- 
able, consciousness  of  his  intention  to  go 
back  to  Rosalynde,  despite  Rayle  and  de- 
spite everything.  He  knew  that  his  re- 
sistance was  a  sham,  therefore  he  made  it 
with  all  his  might  and  with  a  stubborn- 
ness not  in  the  least  natural. 

Indeed,  the  thing  might  have  gone  on 
a  long  while  had  not  a  little  letter,  a  mere 
note,  come  to  him  from  Rosalynde  in  re- 
ply to  his  almost  forgotten  epistle.  Noth- 
147 


ing  could  have  surprised  him  more  ex- 
quisitely or  more  deeply.  It  was  like  a 
flash  out  of  highest  heaven. 

He  sat  with  the  little  sheet  of  delicate 
scribbling  held  firmly  before  him,  and 
read  it  over  and  over,  trying,  and  at  cer- 
tain moments  almost  succeeding,  to  draw 
from  it  just  the  least  hint  of  something 
comforting. 

"NEW  ORLEANS,  LA. 

"DEAR  MR.  BREYTEN  :  It  was  good  of 
you  to  return  the  picture  so  promptly.  It 
was  not  mine.  That  was  my  reason  for 
desiring  its  return  at  once.  Your  letter 
reached  me  here  at  my  uncle's,  where  I 
am  to  spend  the  winter.  I  hope  that  this 
will  not  be  delayed  by  numerous  remail- 
ings,  as  yours  was. 
"Sincerely, 

"ROSALYNDE  BANDERET." 

Of  course,  Breyten  could  not  feel  or 
148 


even  suspect  tlie  worry  of  spirit  that  the 
writing  of  this  letter  had  brought  to  Rosa- 
lynde.  It  might  have  been  a  sort  of  com- 
fort to  him  could  he  have  known  how  she 
actually  cried  and  lost  a  whole  night's 
sleep,  trying  to  invent  some  form  of  com- 
position by  which  she  could  write  freely 
to  him,  as  a  sister  to  a  brother,  and  yet 
save  herself  from  every  chance  of  mis- 
construction by  him  and  from  her  own 
conscience  as  well.  She  wrote  a  half- 
score  of  letters,  some  of  them  long,  chatty, 
and  bright,  others  somewhat  sympathetic 
and  full  of  wholesome  suggestions,  while 
a  number  seemed  to  her,  upon  reading 
them  over,  quite  scattering  in  their  nature 
and  almost  without  connected  meaning. 
Why  she  finally  preferred  and  sent  the  one 
we  have  just  read  she  probably  never 
could  have  explained.  When  it  was  gone 
she  would  have  given  almost  anything  to 

withdraw  it. 

149 


Breyten  actually  at  length  succeeded  in 
discovering  in  certain  phrases  of  the  let- 
ter what  he  thought  meant  a  great  deal. 
"She  as  good  as  says,"  he  explained  to 
himself,  "that  if  the  picture  had  belonged 
to  her  she  would  have  let  me  keep  it.  And 
then  why  should  she  particularly  state 
that  she  is  to  be  in  New  Orleans  all  win- 
ter, if  she  did  not  want  me  to  come? 
Moreover,  the  hope  that  her  letter  would 
not  be  delayed  shows  that  she  will  expect 
to  hear  from  me  or  see  me  again." 

He  slept  over  it  one  long  night,  a 
broken,  unrestful  sleep,  and  next  morning 
took  the  train  for  New  Orleans. 

In  the  meantime  Rayle  had  reached 
Hawford  only  to  find  that  Rosalynde 
would  probably  not  return  to  the  old  home 
at  all,  and  off  he  flew  to  Old  Point  Com- 
fort, where  with  some  difficulty  he  fuund 
out  whither  the  Banderets  had  gone  from 
150 


there.  He  followed  from  place  to  place, 
on  and  on,  misled  here,  delayed  yonder, 
as  Breyten's  letter  had  been,  his  impa- 
tience increasing  in  proportion  to  the 
square  of  every  distance  traveled,  with 
the  added  increment  of  wasted  days,  de- 
layed trains,  and  wrong  directions  taken 
from  careless  hotel  clerks.  And  so  it  hap- 
pened that  he  finally  reached  New  Or- 
leans in  a  dusty  and  forlorn  state,  but 
glowing  with  the  enthusiasm  of  the  chase. 


Early  next  morning  Rayle  was  awake 
and  thinking  of  Rosalynde.  He  had 
no  mind  to  delay,  and  at  the  earliest 
permissible  moment  for  a  call  he  went 
to  Dr.  Banderet's  mansion  and  asked 
to  see  Miss  Banderet.  The  servant  ad- 
mitted him  and  went  away  with  his 
card,  while  he  stood  in  the  twilight  gloom 
of  the  ample  drawing-room  with  black 
crow- foot  furniture  carelessly  ranged 
around,  and  dusky  pictures  peering 
at  him  from  the  walls.  It  made  him 
think  of  art  and  his  abandoned  ambi- 
152 


tion,  and  then  he  wondered  what  Rosa- 
lynde  would  say  to  the  course  he  had  pur- 
sued. And  what  would  she  think  of  the 
wonderful  betterment  of  his  personal  ap- 
pearance ? 

After  all,  the  straightening  of  his  leg 
had  not  made  him  strong  enough  to  stand 
firmly,  for  he  was  trembling  violently 
from  head  to  foot.  Then  he  heard  a 
light,  quick  step  approaching  the  door. 
There  was  a  magic  in  the  delicate  pat* 
pat-pat  upon  the  deep-piled  carpet.  His 
heart  gave  a  leap ;  a  warm  glow  ran  along 
his  veins.  In  that  second  he  forgot  the 
false  note  lately  sounded  in  the  song  of  his 
life.  For,  lightly  tripping  through  theL 
doorway,  came  a  tall,  lissome  form,  the 
radiant  face  smiling  out  of  the  twilight 
gloom  of  the  place.  He  sprang  to  her 
and  caught  her  firmly  in  his  arms. 

"Rosalynde!    Rosalynde!"  he  cried  in 
153 


a  voice  softly  vibrant  with  intense  feeling. 

He  kissed  her  many  times  before  she 
could  find  breath  to  say — 

"Please  don't — I'm  not  Rosalynde — let 
me  go  sir,  will  you !" 

It  was  Angelie;  but  he  could  not  un- 
derstand; he  thought  Rosalynde  was  but 
playing  and  pretending;  so  he  kissed  her 
again  and  again,  holding  her  fast  He 
was  too  much  borne  away  on  the  mo- 
ment's impulse  to  notice  the  French  tim- 
bre in  her  voice,  nor  did  he  stop  to  reflect 
that  Rosalynde  could  not  possibly  fight  so 
atrociously  and  cruelly. 

"This  is  outrageous,  sir !"  she  said,  her 
voice  quivering.  "Leave  the  house  this 
minute !"  She  stamped  her  foot  with  en- 
ergy, and  pointed  towards  the  door  with 
Her  gleaming  hand. 

Rayle's  head  swam,  but  he  made  a 
great  effort  to  understand  the  situation. 
154 


There  may  have  been  a  vague  impression 
in  his  mind  that  he  had  made  some  sort  of 
ugly  mistake. 

"Rosalynde,"  he  said,  "what— what— " 

"Oh,  but  no,  I  am  not  Rosalynde/'  An- 
gelie  interrupted.  "You  know  that  I  am 
not.  Can't  you  see  ?  I  am  Angelie,  Rosa- 
lynde's  cousin.  You  are  Mr.  Rayle,  and 
you've  made  yourself  ridiculous;  but  I 
forgive  you.  A  man  never  fails  to  be  dis- 
agreeable just  when  he  means  to  be  en- 
tertaining." 

She  laughed  again  when  he  took  her 
hand  and  bent  a  mystified  pair  of  dark 
eyes  upon  her. 

"You  came  to  see  Rosalynde,  but  she  is 
away  with  my  father  on  Bayou  Teche. 
I  understand  it  all  now.  It  was  rather 
sudden,  however,  and  quite  unexpected." 
She  was  speaking  rapidly  and  with  a 
charming  air  of  reconciliation.  "If  you 
155 


are  sure  that  you  have  yourself  well  un- 
der control,"  she  added,  "you  may  sit 
down.  Rosalynde  has  told  me  about  you. 
She  will  return  next  week." 

Rayle  began  to  look  stupidly  enlight- 
ened, and  was  smiling  rather  drily. 

"When  did  you  arrive  in  New  Or- 
leans ?"  said  Angelie. 

"Yesterday  evening." 

"Why  didn't  you  let  Rosalynde  know 
that  you  were  coming  ?  She  went  away 
this  morning,  not  more  than  an  hour  ago. 
It's  too  bad." 

"Where  did  you  say  she  is  gone?" 

"Oh,  it's  indefinite.  Father  took  her 
with  him  into  the  Teche  country.  He  has 
a  roving  business  trip  of  some  sort." 

"I  couldn't  overtake  them,  then  ?" 

"Most  likely  not,"  she  said,  and  some- 
thing in  her  voice  searched  his  heart;  it 
was  like  a  haunting  bird-note  in  dreamy 
156 


weather.  "It  would  be  a  tiresome  and 
hopeless  chase." 

"It  will  be  tiresome  to  wait,"  he  said. 

"You  have  waited  many  months;  you 
can  wait  a  week  longer." 

He  looked  at  her  sitting  there  by  the 
open  window,  while  the  light  through 
flickering  orange  foliage  played  upon  her 
sweet  face  and  softly  rounded  form,  and 
something  in  him  stirred  tenderly,  send- 
ing along  his  veins  a  glow  of  delight. 

When  he  arose  to  go,  Angelie's  eyes 
measured  his  handsome  figure ;  then,  with 
a  pretty,  reminiscent  start,  she  suddenly 
said: 

"But  Rosalynde  said  that  you  were 
lame.  You  are  not,  are  you  ?" 

"I  was,  but  I  am  not,"  he  said,  looking 
at  himself.  "My  trouble  was  as  nothing 
in  the  hands  of  a  good  surgeon." 

"How  delightful !"  she  exclaimed,  with 
157 


her  hands  clasped  before  her.  "I  am  glad 
for  you.0 

"You  will  come  every  day,"  she  added. 
"It  may  shorten  your  period  of  waiting  if 
I  prattle  to  you." 

He  was  moving  towards  the  door  when 
the  strains  of  a  violin  exquisitely  played 
came  from  a  remote  part  of  the  house,  and 
he  involuntarily  paused 

"It  is  mamma/'  Angelic  said,  coming 
near  him.  "She  is  a  wonderful  artiste: 
nobody  can  play  as  she  does.  When  you 
come  again  she  shall  play  for  you.  Why 
not  this  evening?  You'll  be  lonely.  Will 
you?" 

Rayle  said  that  he  would,  and  as  he 
walked  back  to  the  hotel,  somehow  he  felt 
that  lately  the  tune  of  his  life  had  been 
breaking  upon  false  notes. 


In  the  morning  following  his  arrival 
Breyten  picked  up  a  morning  paper, 
yet  damp  from  the  press,  and  almost  the 
first  paragraph  was  quite  in  the  line  of  his 
thoughts.  It  stated  that  Dr.  Banderet, 
accompanied  by  his  niece,  Miss  Rosalynde, 
of  Indiana,  had  gone  to  Bayou  Teche  for 
a  week.  A  week!  A  year  would  not 
have  been  more  unsatisfactory.  He  read 
the  paragraph  over  two  or  three  times,, 
then  crumpled  the  paper,  flung  it  on  a. 
table,  and  went  to  the  clerk's  desk  to  in- 


quire  how  he  could  go  to  Bayou  Teche 
by  the  shortest  and  quickest  route. 

He  would  have  but  two  hours  and  ten 
minutes  to  wait  for  a  train,  a  fast  flyer, 
going  to  "the  Teche,"  as  the  clerk  called 
it  He  would  reach  New  Iberia,  a  quaint 
old  town  in  that  region,  sometime  in  the 
afternoon.  The  Teche  was  a  long  bayou 
with  plenty  of  steamboats  on  it.  Many 
tourists  flocked  there  and  had  no  end  of  a 
good  time,  the  clerk  volunteered  to  ex- 
plain. 

Breyten  broke  off  from  him  to  look 
for  a  railway  guide  and  snatch  a  hasty 
breakfast.  The  excitement  of  pursuit 
was  already  tingling  through  him.  He 
made  his  few  necessary  preparations  with 
nervous  haste,  his  fine  face  all  aglow. 
He  looked  like  a  big  boy  making  frantic 
•efforts  to  get  ready  for  a  holiday,  and  he 

160 


was  at  the  station  half  an  hour  before  time 
for  the  train  to  leave. 

An  excursion  to  Texas,  in  the  interests 
of  an  agricultural  emigration  company, 
had  attracted  a  rather  motley  throng,  in 
the  midst  of  which  Breyten  stalked  about 
restlessly  until  his  train  drew  up;  then, 
after  being  jostled  and  delayed  at  the 
door,  he  went  into  the  rearmost  parlor- 
car.  The  first  face  he  saw  struck  him 
with  such  surprise  that  he  came  near  cry- 
ing out. 

Rosalynde  was  looking  out  of  a  win- 
dow, and  did  not  see  Breyten  as  he  passed, 
though  he  hesitated  a  moment  by  the  arm 
of  her  seat.  Dr.  Banderet,  coming  up 
just  then,  politely  elbowed  him  away  and 
sat  down  beside  his  grand-niece,  with  a 
gold-headed  cane  between  his  knees. 

Breyten's  seat  was  some  distance  far- 
ther back.  He  flung  himself  into  it  with 
161 


the  limp  look  of  a  very  tired  man.  He 
could  not  see  Rosalynde's  face,  but  a  curve 
of  her  cheek  showed  under  her  simple 
traveling-hat,  and  the  dusky  gleam  of  her 
hair  was  just  as  it  used  to  be  when  she  sat 
reading  to  him  in  the  old  home  in  Haw- 
ford. 

The  train  soon  freed  itself  from  the 
hindrances  of  the  city  and  leaped  forth 
into  the  strange  moss-hung  forests  and 
over  the  plashy  swamps  and  marshes. 

After  a  while  Dr.  Banderet  went  to  the 
smoking-apartment,  leaving  Rosalynde 
alone  in  her  seat.  Breyten  gave  himself 
no  time  for  a  change  of  purpose,  but 
rather  precipitately  carried  it  out.  Rosa- 
lynde looked  up  and  saw  him  bending 
over  her.  She  started;  her  face  flushed, 
then  turned  pale.  She  had  been  thinking 
of  him  when  his  voice  startled  her.  He 

162 


was  speaking  when  she  lifted  her  eyes  to 
him. 

"Rosalynde,"  he  said,  with  a  fine,  at- 
tractive smile,  "didn't  you  know  that  you 
couldn't  get  away  from  me  ?  Here  I  am." 

"You  surprised  me,"  she  said,  making 
room  for  him  by  removing  Dr.  Banderet's 
cane  from  where  he  had  left  it  leaning 
against  the  seat  beside  her;  "but  I  am 
glad  to  see  you.  Where  are  you  going?" 

"Wherever  you  go,"  he  answered 
gravely.  "You  shall  never  get  out  of  my 
sight  again  if  I  can  prevent  it — never. 
Rosalynde,  it's  useless  to  hesitate  or 
deny,  I  love  you  and  you  love  me;  you 
know  it  and  I  know  it,  and  no  power  can 
change  it  or  hinder  it." 

"Don't,  please,"  she  said  at  first  in  a 
frightened  half-whisper.  Then  with  a 
great  effort  she  laughed  and  added :  "But 

163 


tell  me  where  you've  been  and  what 
you've  seen." 

"I've  been  nowhere,  have  seen  nothing, 
and  have  thought  only  of  you  all  the 
time." 

"But  a  person  who  goes  nowhere  and 
sees  nothing  must  be  very  stupid  and  un- 
interesting," she  said,  with  a  poor  little 
breaking  voice,  which  she  was  trying  to 
make  ring  out  freely  and  lightly  in  proof 
of  a  jocund  mood. 

"It's  no  use,  Rosalynde,"  he  said ;  "you 
feel  it  and  might  as  well  acknowledge  it. 
Love  is  master." 

Suddenly  she  bridled  breathlessly.  "You 
shall  not  say  this  to  me,"  she  exclaimed. 
"I  will  not  listen.  You  forget;  you — " 

Dr.  Banderet  appeared  to  claim  his 
seat,  or  rather  to  stand  mute  with  a  bland 
interrogative  expression  on  his  aristo- 
cratic face.  Rosalynde  did  the  first  thing 
164 


she  thought  of,  the  moment  being  a  cru- 
cial one.  She  introduced  Frederick  Brey- 
ten  to  her  great-uncle.  Breyten  arose, 
and  the  two  men,  bobbing  and  staggering 
to  the  car's  motion,  shook  hands. 

"Keep  the  seat,  sir,  keep  the  seat,"  Dr. 
Banderet  insisted.  "I  will  sit  facing  you, 
here.  I  like  riding  backward  for  a 
change." 

The  arrangement  comforted  Rosalynde, 
and  she  enjoyed  hearing  Breyten,  in  an- 
swer to  inquiries  from  her  uncle,  tell  a 
good  deal  about  the  Breytens  of  Virginia, 
an  historic  family  well  known  to  Dr. 
Banderet. 

Dr.  Banderet  was  a  voluble  talker,  with 
much  that  was  interesting  to  talk  about, 
and  he  gave  Breyten  little  opportunity  to 
speak  to  Rosalynde. 

"I  am  very  glad  that  you  have  no  defi- 
nite plan  for  seeing  the  Teche  region," 
165 


he  went  on  to  say.  "I  shall  claim  the 
pleasure  of  showing  it  to  you.  You  will 
go  with  us  ?  I  have  a  little  business,  but 
my  niece  and  you  will  doubtless  be  able 
to  entertain  each  other,  being  old 
friends." 

Breyten  was  delighted,  but  Rosalynde 
looked  frightened  and  seemed  on  the 
point  of  raising  strenuous  objection,  al- 
though, in  fact,  her  tongue  was  refrac- 
tory; she  could  not  have  spoken  a  word 
had  life  depended  upon  it. 

The  train  swept  on,  and  as  the  miles 
slipped  behind,  it  seemed  to  Rosalynde 
that  she  was  leaving  forever  all  that  had 
once  been  life  to  her  and  flying  into  some 
unknown  region  enmisted  with  doubt  and 
haunted  by  a  formless,  tender  dread. 


166 


O^p  t  e  r,/ni\ete<iN 

It  would  be  interesting  to  observe 
Rayle's  proceedings  during  the  time — it 
turned  out  to  be  twelve  days  instead  of  a 
week — that  Dr.  Banderet  and  Rosalynde 
were  absent. 

He  called  upon  Angelie  every  day,  and 
found  her  a  most  bewitching  young 
woman,  who  held  up  before  him  a  kaleido- 
scope of  dazzling  fascinations. 

He  recognized  her  extreme  difference 

from   Rosalynde  at  the  very  moments 

when  he  was  most  impressed  with  the 

twin-like  resemblance  between  them.  Per-* 

167 


haps  this  confused  him,  or  was  it  the 
weather  ?  For  never  had  his  eyes  looked 
through  such  soft  splendor  of  sunlight  by 
day  and  moonlight  by  night. 

Here  our  record  must  rely  upon  the 
meager  facts  in  the  following  letter  writ- 
ten by  Angelie  to  Rosalynde,  who  re- 
ceived it  at  New  Iberia  after  her  return 
there  from  a  memorable  voyage  on  the 
beautiful  waters  of  Bayou  Teche : 

"DEAREST  ROSE:  I  hope  this  letter 
will  not  fail  to  reach  you;  and  oh,  I'm  so 
glad  that  I  did  not  feel  in  the  humor  to 
go  with  you  and  papa,  for  I've  been  hav- 
ing such  exciting  experiences.  How  shall 
I  tell  you?  It's  like  a  novel.  The  very 
handsomest  and  most  interesting  young 
man  that  I  ever  saw  has  been  coming  to 
see  me  every  day  since  your  departure. 
*He's  dark  and  has  features  so  nobly  cut 
and  so  finely  intelligent  that  it's  a  delight 
168 


to  look  at  him.  He's  a  charming  talker 
too;  has  just  returned  from  Paris,  where 
he  had  no  end  of  adventures.  But,  dear, 
he  has  no  more  actual  knowledge  of  the 
world  than  a  boy  of  fifteen,  though  his 
opinion  of  himself  is  pretty  extensive,  as 
is  the  case  with  all  men,  you  know.  Still, 
that  makes  him  delightful, — his  want  of 
worldly  wisdom,  I  mean, — and  he  is  so 
entertaining  and  so  western;  he's  from 
Indiana  too!  He  knew  Uncle  Lucicn, 
and  is  acquainted  with  Mr.  Frederick 
Breyten!  I  really  think  there  is  something 
mysterious  about  his  coming  here,  some- 
thing romantic  rather,  and  I  am  so  inter- 
ested. He  has  great,  big,  dark,  soft  eyes, 
— a  poet's  eyes, — and  such  a  voice!  He 
sings  to  mamma's  accompaniments  with 
perfectly  divine  richness  and  power,  in  a 
heavy  tenor  that  I  never  heard  the  equal 
169 


of  anywhere.     Freddie  has  called  so  I 
must  close. 

"A  thousand  kisses  from  your  devoted 
cousin  ANGELIE." 


170 


CiN&^P  *  e  r  JTWeivly 

Bayou  Teche  doubtless  has  had  many  a 
romance  upon  its  slow,  languid  water,  and 
in  the  picturesque  houses  that  peep  forth 
from  the  groves  and  gardens  along  its 
banks,  but  the  flower  of  them  all — the 
poem  of  them  all,  it  would  be  better  to  say 
— was  that  which  Breyten  and  Rosalynde 
made  for  themselves  while  on  board  a  little 
steamboat,  a  lazy  but  tireless  craft  run-i 
ning  far  up  the  great  lagoon  and  touch- 
ing with  its  enterprising  nose  every  land- 
ing on  either  shore. 

Dr.  Banderet,  having  lived  most  of  His 
171 


Hfe  in  the  South,  had  the  Southerner's 
quick  sense  of  what  is  due  to  a  gentleman 
who  falls  in  the  way  of  one's  hospitality 
or  seems  a  good  target  for  one's  generosi- 
ties of  any  sort.  He  knew  Breyten's 
family,  had  known  his  father,  and  now, 
well  impressed  with  the  young  man  him- 
self, he  set  no  limit  to  kindness  and  court- 
esy. His  business  at  New  Iberia  had  to 
be  postponed  for  a  few  days,  and  as  time 
was  heavy  he  bethought  him  of  the  voy- 
age up  the  Teche — it  would  be  a  revela- 
tion to  Rosalynde,  and  perhaps  not  unat- 
tractive to  Breyten.  So  it  was  arranged ; 
a  little  steamer  came  just  at  the  nick  of 
time ;  to  reach  it  was  no  great  trouble. 

The  old  doctor  was  in  high  spirits; 
Breyten  had  charmed  him;  for  Breyten 
was  a  good  listener,  the  doctor  an  enthu- 
siastic raconteur,  and  what  more  was 

needed? 

172 


The  only  drawback  was  that  Breyten's 
mind  wandered  from  the  entertainment 
so  generously  expended  upon  him  to 
Rosalynde,  sitting  by  the  vessel's  rail  a  lit- 
tle distance  farther  forward.  He  wanted 
to  join  her ;  as  yet  he  had  not  been  able  to 
converse  with  her  alone,  and  his  heart  was 
impatient,  his  ears  longed  for  her  voice, 
his  eyes  could  not  be  kept  from  gazing  at 
her  profile  while  she  looked  away  over 
the  smooth  water. 

Breyten,  after  the  most  diligent  impa- 
tience, finally  worked  himself  clear  of  Dr. 
Banderet's  control,  and  turned  his  chair 
so  as  to  face  Rosalynde. 

"Now,"  he  said,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
dares  fate,  "we  will  give  any  intruder  a 
cold  stare  of  repulse.  I  am  in  no  humor 
for  interruptions." 

"It  is  a  beautiful  panorama,"  she  said, 
"a  sort  of  dream-shadow  and  dream-sheen 
173 


vision.  I  was  here  once  before,  long, 
long  ago,  when  I  was  a  little  child.  It  is 
just  the  same,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  not  a 
trace  of  change.  I  remember  those  long- 
necked,  slow-winged  birds."  She  pointed 
towards  some  herons,  laboring  through 
the  drowsy  air.  "I  have  dreamed  of  these 
dusky  shore-groves  and  those  wide  fields 
of  cane  yonder  hundreds  of  times.  They 
made  a  great  impression  upon  my  childish 
mind,  and  I  have  always  desired  to  come 
and  see  them  again." 

"But  you  -never  dreamed  that  I  was  to 
be  with  you,  did  you  ?" 

"No,"  she  said  with  a  little  laugh. 

"Well,  I  was  to  be,  and  here  I  am. 
You  do  not  seem  surprised;  you  do  not 
object" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  faltered ;  then  ad- 
ded with  a  firmer  tone :  "People  have  to 
meet  The  highways  are  for  all/' 


"True;  but  our  meeting  opened  a  new 
life  to  both  of  us;  you  know  it.  Look 
back  beyond  that  meeting-.  Is  life  back 
there  what  it  is  on  this  side?  We  have 
blended  souls,  we  have  enlarged  each 
other's  vision,  broadened  each  other's  ca- 
pacity to  enjoy,  to  comprehend,  to  aspire. 
I  did  not  know  life  until  you  opened  its 
gate ;  before  that  I  was  but  a  joy-dreamer, 
with  the  Greek  poets  for  my  cup-fillers 
and  physical  nature  for  my  guide.  Now 
I  feel  something  better,  purer,  stronger. 
I  love,  and  I  feel  the  imperious  right  to 
be  loved." 

Rosalynde  had  been  struggling  with  a 
sense  of  duty  during  this  impassioned 
speech,  which  she  felt  overwhelming 
her  and  lifting  tears  towards  her 
eyes.  The  facts — she  could  not  deny 
that  they  were  facts — tumbled  upon 
12  175 


her  attention  by  Breyten  just  now  were 
not  new  to  her;  she  had  revolved  them 
innumerable  times  since  they  parted  at 
Hawford.  Not  that  she  gave  them  the 
meaning  that  he  insisted  upon.  She  gave 
them  no  meaning;  they  simply  haunted 
her  with  a  strange  composite  effect  at  once 
infinitely  saddening  and  indescribably 
sweet. 

"What  are  you  thinking?"  Breyten 
gently  demanded,  after  a  rather  long 
pause,  during  which  a  beautiful  landscape 
had  opened  on  one  bank  of  the  bayou. 

"I  am  Alfred  Rayle's  promised  wife," 
she  said.  "There  is  nothing  to  add  to  the 
simple  statement.  You  know  it  as  well 
as  I." 

In  that  moment,  at  those  words,  his 
heart  sank,  but  he  fought  hard  and  held 
his  head  high.  Defeat  seemed  impossi- 
ble. He  must  not  force  fate ;  time  and  the 
176 


weight  of  events  might  yet  win  for  him 
all  that  now  seemed  impossible,  for  there 
was  no  doubting  the  immovable,  albeit 
hauntingly  gentle  and  inscrutable,  expres- 
sion in  her  face. 

"If  you  really  love  Alfred  Rayle  and  do 
not  love  me,  that  is  the  end,"  he  said. 
"I  followed  you  here  not  to  try  to  change 
your  love,  but  to  prove  it.  My  love  for 
you  could  not  let  me  believe  that  you  did 
not  love  me.  I  can  not  realize  it  now; 
but  if  it  is  so,  if  you  love  Rayle  and  not 
me,  it  is  my  load,  and  I  must  carry  it.  I 
see  that  I  have  done  wrong.  Forgive 
me ;  lay  it  to  my  ignorance.  I  never  loved 
before ;  it  has  conquered  me  wholly." 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead 
and  looked  bewildered.  But  he  mastered 
himself  before  Rosalynde  could  fairly 
understand,  and  now  he  had  to  assume  a 

cheerful  mood,   for  Dr.  Banderet  came 
177 


to  join  them  and  had  thought  of  another 
excellent  story. 

The  voyage  on  the  Teche  lasted  two 
days  without  further  incident  worth  re- 
cording. Rosalynde  and  Breyten  con- 
versed brokenly,  meeting  and  separating 
capriciously ;  Dr.  Banderet  gradually  com- 
pleted his  cycle  of  stories  and  cheerfully 
set  out  on  the  second  round.  At  last  it 
was  all  over,  and  the  little  party  again 
set  foot  in  the  hotel  at  New  Iberia. 
Next  morning  Dr.  Banderet's  business 
claimed  him,  and  Rosalynde  was  whisked 
away  by  a  matronly  friend,  whose  home 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  town  looked  old 
enough  and  quaint  enough  to  date  back 
to  the  davs  of  French  supremacy. 

Breyten  lingered  and  waited.  Why 
did  he  linger  ?  What  was  he  waiting  for  ? 
There  was  no  reason ;  there  was  no  expec- 

178 


tation.  Still,  he  lingered  and  waited,  a 
mere  lounger  at  the  hotel. 

When  Dr.  Banderet's  affairs  were  at 
last  arranged  to  his  liking,  he  brought 
Rosalynde  back  to  the  hotel,  and  the  three 
dined  together  upon  delicious  French 
dishes  and  notably  excellent  French 
wines.  Of  course,  some  stories  by  the 
doctor  added  pleasantness  to  the  occa- 
sion. Finally  he  looked  at  his  watch  and 
suddenly  realized  that  they  would  have 
to  make  haste  or  lose  the  train. 

"Good-by,  then,"  said  Breyten,  offering 
Rosalynde  his  hand.  "I  am  going  on  to 
Mexico.  Our  voyage  was  an  experience 
that  I  shall  never  forget.  I  say  good-by 
with  a  pang." 

She  gave  him  her  hand. 

"Why,  my  dear  sir/'  exclaimed  Dr. 
Banderet, — "my  dear  sir,  this  is  sudden; 

179 


we  had  counted  upon  your  returning  with 
us." 

"Yes,  it  is  rather  sudden,  a  sort  of  sur- 
prise to  myself;  but  I  am  a  creature  of 
whims.  I  have  thought  of  Mexico  for 
a  long  while,  and  now  that  I  seem  near 
its  border,  the  impulse  comes  upon  me  to 
go.  But  you  will  miss  your  train  through 
being  kind  to  me.  Good-by,  Miss  Band- 
eret;  good-by,  doctor." 

"You  won't  be  always  in  Mexico,"  said 
Dr.  Banderet,  already  hurrying  Rosa- 
lynde  away,  and  speaking  cordially  back 
over  his  shoulder.  "You'll  be  in  New 
Orleans  on  your  return  trip.  Come  right 
to  my  house." 

When  Rosalynde  turned  at  the  door 
and  gave  Breyten  a  quick  glance,  he 
thought  he  saw  tears  shining  in  her  eyes. 


1 80 


Breyten  went  to  Mexico  and  wandered 
somewhat  perfunctorily  for  a  space  of 
five  or  six  months  in  a  mood  not  condu- 
cive to  perfect  comfort. 

He  kept  Angelie's  photograph, — he 
could  not  separate  it  from  his  dream  of 
Rosalynde, — and  one  seeing  him  gazing 
upon  it  would  have  suspected  him  of  pray- 
ing to  it;  but  sentimental  as  all  this  may 
seem,  he  lost  no  sleep,  kept  a  great  appe- 
tite, flourished  physically,  and  read  the 
home  newspapers  whenever  he  could  get 
hold  of  them. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  embarking  at 
Vera  Cruz  for  Havre  when  the  item  of 
181 


news  for  which  he  seemed  to  have  been 
long  looking  fell  under  his  eyes.  It  was 
in  a  New  Orleans  Sunday  paper,  just  five 
weeks  old : 

"Mr.  Alfred  Rayle  and  his  wife  have 
gone  to  Haw  ford,  Indiana,  for  a  month's 
visit." 

Breyten  read  the  item  over  and  over, 
but  somehow  he  could  not  realize  its  fact. 
Presently  he  flung  down  the  paper  with 
an  impatient  gesture,  and  laughed  as  one 
does  who  is  proof  against  the  litt'e  r.nnoy- 
ances  that  printed  matter  occasionally 
swarms  with. 

"  I've  looked  for  it  diligently  enough, 
expected  it  confidently  enough,  and  pre- 
pared myself  for  it  carefully  enough,"  he 
reflected,  "so  that  it  means  nothing — ab- 
solutely nothing — to  me,  now  that  I've 
found  it." 

Breyten  went  bowling  across  the  seas 
to  France.  There  he  made  persistent 
efforts  to  regain  his  lost  way  of  life. 
182 


First  he  tried  interesting  himself  in  books, 
art,  the  theaters,  and  the  streets  of  Paris ; 
then  he  ran  up  to  Switzerland  and  gave 
his  muscles  free  play  among  the  glaciers. 
It  was  but  mechanical  exercise,  not  recre- 
ation; the  old  idyllic  joy  would  not  re- 
turn. He  began  to  wonder  how  he  had 
ever  cared  so  much  for  what  now  seemed 
idle  and  empty,  a  mere  vagrant's  mood, 
of  which  a  man  ought  to  be  ashamed. 
But  what  was  worth  while,  then? 

He  lingered  here  and  yonder  on  his 
slow  way.  He  spent  the  winter  in  the 
Rivera,  dreaming  of  the  Teche,  knowing 
all  the  time  that  sooner  or  later  he  was 
going  back  to  Haw  ford  on  a  bicycle  by 
way  of  the  bridge  where  he  had  first  met 
Rosalynde.  And  promptly,  early  in  May, 
he  was  there,  but  the  old  wooden  span 
had  been  torn  away  to  give  place  to  a 
patent  one  of  iron. 

It  was  growing  dusk  when  he  reached 
the  hotel  at  Haw  ford. 
183 


"Hello!"  said  the  smiling  fat  clerk, 
instantly  recognizing  him,  "glad  to  see 
you,  Mr.  Breyten.  You  can  have  the 
same  rooms.  You  are  looking  fine.  Been 
growing,  haven't  you?" 

Breyten  generalized  vaguely  and  gen- 
ially in  response  to  this  unexpected 
warmth.  He  would  have  liked  to  ask  in- 
numerable questions,  all  tending  to  one 
object — Rosalynde.  For,  in  spite  of  what 
he  knew  to  the  contrary,  he  could  think 
of  her  only  as  living  yonder  in  the  old 
gray  home  among  the  trees.  Presently 
he  would  go  up  there  and  see  her;  she 
would  be  walking  in  the  broad  way  be- 
tween the  gate  and  the  house,  and  an 
absurd  little  dog  with  a  ribbon  around  its 
neck  would  be  trotting  along  ahead  of  her. 

"When  you  got  jammed  up  so  on  your 
bicycle  that  time,  I  never  expected  that 
I'd  see  you  flying  around  again.  You're 
entirely  well  of  it?" 

"Yes,  thank  you,  quite  well." 
184 


"The  young  lady  came  out  mighty 
lucky." 

"And  how  is  she?"  Breyten  could  not 
control  his  desire.  The  question  was 
asked  automatically. 

"Don't  know ;  well,  I  guess.  The  fam- 
ily have  just  come  up  from  New  Orleans; 
going  to  spend  the  summer  here.  I 
haven't  seen  any  of  'em  yet." 

Breyten  turned  abruptly  and  followed 
the  servant,  who  led  the  way  to  his  room. 
He  walked  briskly  and  appeared  to  be 
alert,  self-contented,  happy;  but  he  felt 
heavy  and  listless;  he  could  not  think 
clearly,  and  every  fiber  of  his  body 
seemed  strained  to  the  point  of  lesion. 

He  dined  heartily,  for  his  heavy  exer- 
cise awheel  had  given  him  a  sharp  appe- 
tite, though  he  was  not  tired.  At  eight  of 
the  Haw  ford  Court  House  steeple  clock 
he  went  out  into  the  moonlight  night. 

He  reflected :  "I  shall  go  for  a  look  at 
the  house  where  I  lay  so  long.  And  it 


seems  but  yesterday,  yet  like  a  century 
too,  since  she  read  to  me  and  I  gazed  at 
her  through  half-closed  eyes.  Just  a  look 
at  the  old  house,  and  then — " 

In  front  of  the  Banderet  homestead 
Breyten  stood  up  firmly,  straight  and  tall, 
while  a  figure  moved  down  the  walk 
towards  him;  a  gray,  slender,  graceful 
form,  leading  a  little  child. 

One  glance  assured  him;  it  was  Rosa- 
lynde.  Suddenly  he  felt  perfectly  master 
of  himself.  There  was  but  one  thing  to 
do,  and  he  was  glad  and  eager  to  do  it. 
Of  course,  he  had  no  time  to  reason  it  out 
with  himself,  but  the  gist  of  it  was: 
"Here  she  comes.  It  is  Mrs.  Rayle  now, 
a  happy  little  wife.  Clearly  all  that  I've 
got  to  do  is  to  shake  hands  with  her,  be 
glad  to  see  her,  be  invited  in,  talk  with 
Rayle,  and  go  away." 

When  Breyten  opened  the  gate  the  fig- 
ure was  less  than  ten  paces  distant,  and  at 
the  click  of  the  latch  it  stopped  quite  still. 
186 


With  quick  steps  he  approached  and  held 
out  his  hand. 

"Do  you  forgive  a  friend,  Mrs.  Rayle, 
the  liberty  of  taking  you  unawares  ?"  His 
voice  was  not  so  steady,  after  all. 

"Mr.  Breyten!" 

"Mrs.  Rayle." 

"You  are  mistaken.  Mrs.  Rayle  is 
away;  but  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

She  took  his  hand :  he  stood  looking 
hard  at  her.  Surely  it  was  Rosalynde, 
pale,  radiant,  glad,  gazing  up  into  his 
questioning  eyes. 

The  little  child,  daughter  of  a  neighbor, 
slipped  aside  and  ran  away. 

Breyten  put  on  a  great  spurt  of  shrewd- 
ness ;  the  flash  of  comprehensive  re- 
trospect that  comes  to  a  drowning  man 
was  giving  him  full  explanation  of  his 
mistake.  He  recollected  that  the  photo- 
graph was  of  Rosalynde's  cousin,  Miss 
Angelic  Bancleret.  To  be  sure. 

He  laughed  and  said: 
187 


"The  moonlight  deceived  me ;  I  thought 
you  were  Rosalynde — Mrs.  Rayle." 

"Come  into  the  house  with  me,  where 
the  light  is  better,"  she  said. 

"You  are  Miss  Angelie  Banderet?" 

"No,  I  am  Rosalynde." 

He  stopped  as  if  frozen. 

"Then — then,"  he  stammered,  "then 
you  are  Mrs.  Rayle." 

"No.  I  am  Rosalynde  Banderet." 
There  was  a  decided  accent  of  disap- 
proval, as  well  as  denial,  in  her  voice.  "I 
do  not  like  the  humor  of  what  you  say." 
She  made  a  gesture  of  disappointment, 
and  stood  as  if  waiting  for  him  to  make 
amends. 

"Rosalynde — Rosalynde — what  are  you 
saying  to  me  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

Something  behind  his  faltering  words 
indicated  whole  volumes  of  inexpressible 
suspense,  doubt,  hope,  trembling  expecta- 
tion. 

"I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  said, 
1 88 


visibly  quivering  from  head  to  foot,  for 
she  was  beginning  to  suspect  the  truth. 
He  did  not  comprehend  that  it  was 
Angelie  who  became  Mrs.  Rayle. 

As  for  him,  he  caught  the  truth  at  that 
moment,  as  if  it  had  been  revealed  by  a 
divine  light.  He  saw  a  flash  of  electrical 
splendor,  like  that  away  back  yonder 
under  the  old  bridge  on  the  day  he  first 
saw  her. 

"You  did  not  marry  Rayle,"  he  cried 
in  a  low,  glad  voice.  "Rosalynde !  Rosa- 
lynde!  You  did  not — did  you?" 

"No,"  she  said,  from  somewhere  deep 
in  his  arms.  It  was  like  the  cry  of  a  bird 
reveling  in  foliage  so  densely  rich  that 
the  luxury  was  well-nigh  overpowering. 

"No,"  he  repeated  after  her;  "no,  no!" 

The  spring  wind  was  merry  in  the 
young  leaves  overhead.  From  the  house 
a  violin's  notes  trembled  forth,  deliciously 
tender  and  sweet;  it  was  Mrs.  Banderet 
playing  the  doctor's  favorite  lyric.  Then 
189 


a  small  object  came  ambling  down  the 
walk  and  frisked  and  barked  as  if  its 
whole  life  depended  upon  noise  and 
motion;  but  it  received  not  the  slightest 
regard;  its  mistress  did  not  even  see  it 
or  hear  it. 

We  can  go  no  further.  Marriage  is 
not  the  end  of  love,  but  it  is  the  true 
end  of  a  love-story;  and  this  is  only  a 
love-story. 


Q 


190 


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